


sunflowers

by Marnie27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Casual overthinking, Dimension Travel, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Marauders era, Once again — kind of, Original Character - Freeform, Reborn as Peter Pettigrew, Redemption, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, Sunflowers, Time Travel Fix-It, Transmigration, Unreliable Narrator, kind of, self indulgent, this has a happy ending i swear, time-travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 107,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24552382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marnie27/pseuds/Marnie27
Summary: One day, a young girl sits on the edge of a well. On this day, she falls in. Then the next, she’s not even a ‘she’ anymore. He’s Peter Pettigrew — doomed to die at the hands of his (betrayed) friend’s son.Peter is selfish, bitter and brash. He’s not some fairy tale hero, he doesn’t care if everyone around him dies, as long as he lives. The marauders are annoying and childish. Survival is his priority, and he can’t afford to face distractions.This just makes the fact that soulmates are now apparently a thing all the more godawful.(And then another day years later he falls into an entirely new impossibility, Remus Lupin in tow, right into the third book of Harry Potter. Smack bang on the other Peter Pettigrew’s grave).It’s confusing and graceless, and entirely something that would happen to him of all people.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin/Original Male Character(s), Remus Lupin/Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black/Severus Snape
Comments: 299
Kudos: 827
Collections: Favorite Self-Insert and OC-Centric Fanfics





	1. Remus and Peter and Petals and Mum

Remus liked many things.

Like the crickets he heard late at night through his window, like the fluffy carpet in his mum’s room, and like the mirror he talked to sometimes, just before bed and first thing every morning. 

(He liked how it talked back. Wasn’t that amazing? Mum had absolutely freaked when dad brought it home.)

What he loved was a shorter list, but it encompassed more. He loved his parents and _magic_.

It was impossible to hate magic. His mum was a muggle, so she didn’t do magic, but she was nice enough to make up for it. But his dad — he was the one who he admired the most, not that he’d ever tell his mum that.

His dad came home infrequently, but when he did, he came with his wand in toe, which spat out spells like... well, magic. He turned teapots into frogs and cats into dogs. When dad came home, he immediately kissed his mum, which was gross, and then he would always unfailingly do magic to brighten up her day; like create flowers out of thin air and hold them out to her.

Magic also did their dishes, swept their floors, and hung Christmas lights. Maybe that was why mum had married dad; for practicality. Practicality was good.

Magic was more than _practicality_ though! It was — it was fantastic. Straight out of a fairy tale.

He curled up beside the window and stressed his ears to listen to the crickets. 

His dad was infallible. He was magic and smart, and nice and fun and... everything. Remus wanted to be like him.

Outside echoed a very strange noise, and Remus scrunched up his face and hid slightly under the covers. It was an odd sort of growl, something like a stressed moan. Dad said the wildlife did it all the time, that it was natural, so he shouldn’t worry; but he wasn’t his dad so nope, Remus was definitely going to hide under his covers. 

It was late at night, so the wind always made funny noises. When he was really, really really young, Remus would run to his parents’ bed and dive right in with them. But he didn’t do that anymore. Four-year-olds were better than that.

It was silent for a while, and Remus reached out to a book of fairytales by his bedside. He couldn’t read all of the words, even though his dad had called him a ‘smart young boy.’ But the pictures were his favourite part, so he didn’t need to read them anyway.

Didn’t the pictures tell the best stories?

(Mum said he wouldn’t feel that way when he grew up, but that was just stupid. What person preferred words over pictures?)

He loved Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Goldilocks, and Little Red Riding Hood. He liked Robin Hood, he really really liked Beauty and the Beast — but that was just because his mum drew pictures for it. He coloured them in, and they were hung on his wall.

There was a slam from somewhere near the backdoor, and Remus froze mid-way of turning a page. Even if it was the wind, it didn’t mean that Remus had to listen to it. He wasn’t scared, of course not, but it didn’t sound that good either.

Crickets were better. Even if they were repetitive.

He was home alone because his dad was at work and his mum was out babysitting a neighbour's kid because they were younger than Remus. They didn’t have a lot of money. She’d be back later, but that meant he couldn’t rush to his parents' room — which he didn’t do because he was four, thank you very much.

They had called Remus responsible. He was responsible, but when the next large growling noise, mixed with a high pitched squeal and a large smash echoed through the house, he wished they thought he wasn’t. He wished that maybe mum had stayed home. So what if they didn’t have a lot of money?

He buried more underneath his covers. 

White fingers gripped the blanket, and he tried to think of something other than the noises but it was no use, as soon as they had seemed to come closer, any other thoughts had disappeared with the wind.

(It was just the wind, wasn’t it?)

His breathing seemed to get louder, and he abandoned the book completely. So what if it was the wind or wildlife? He didn’t want any part of it. As the sounds got louder, and a deep harrowing smash sounded down near the back door, he buried himself under the covers and moved the blanket slightly to make it appear like he wasn’t there.

Harsh breathing. Heavy footsteps, followed by a click. It was the sound of a dog walking. Had a dog broken in?

Remus slowly put a hand over his mouth. It was scarily silent, and the crickets seemed to get louder and louder as the blood rushed to his face. From between the folds of his blanket, he only got a single glimpse of hairy-grey-slobber-fear-big-beast before there was suddenly pain.

Pain, everywhere. 

“Remus? Remus!” Dad’s voice bellowed from outside.

The dog bolted out Remus’ window, and shattered glass fell everywhere. More pain. It had bitten only once before it had run away, but the bite felt almost like it was getting larger, like it covered his entire body. His body felt like a boiling kettle.

(Was this how Briar had felt when she had pricked her finger? Or was it how Red Riding Hood’s grandma had felt when she was eaten? When Snow White bit into that apple? )

(When the prince got transformed into a beast?)

Pain.

“Remus?”

Pain.

“Remus!”

_Pain_.

The crickets fell silent.

Remus had never hated crickets more.

..

When Remus got accepted into Hogwarts, his dad had been ecstatic. His mum, on the other hand, was not. The two had fought for weeks, all the way up to the day he was set to step onto the train. Even then, his fate already decided, his mum had pulled him aside.

“You don’t have to go,” she had said. “You’ll be okay at home. We can homeschool you, it’ll... it’ll be fun.”

It wouldn’t be fun.

The house wasn’t the same, it’d never been the same. As soon as the option had been available, he knew that he was going to go to Hogwarts.

So Remus shook his head, and the next thing he knew he was waving out the train window. He pulled a book onto his lap and read, all the while pretending that nothing was real. That everything was okay. That he was normal.

Truth was, he didn’t want to go to Hogwarts. It was just better than at home.

Home had quickly become a nightmare. He hated all of the shouting, he hated mum’s tears late at night when she thought he was sleeping. He hated the worn down shed at the back of the house, but most of all, he hated magic.

What was magic good for if it did that to him? If it forced him to become that thing, only to then tell him that he wasn’t good enough for the rest of the world. He hated it, and he hated himself.

(He... even, even — well, he could admit to himself that he didn’t really hate magic. He just hated the magic that landed him as a werewolf. Could anyone blame him for that?)

Large chattering from outside the train compartment door made him quietly lift up his head, and he saw the shadows of two figures casually strolling up. The taller one drew the door to the side.

He fidgeted absently with the sleeves of his wooly jumper. It had been forced on him seconds before he stepped onto the train. His mum liked to knit a lot, which meant that he had a lot of homemade items, like scarves and socks and gloves and — well, a lot of wooly things. The problem was that unfortunately, she was bad at it. His jumper looked like it was coming apart already, and for all he knew it was completed yesterday. 

“— And yeah, of course I did! But she didn’t answer, so I don’t know what’s up with that and... hey! I’m James Potter, what’s your name?”

  
Also fun fact: his mum always gifted homemade knitted things to people when she was nervous. It was nice to get her items, but the fact that it gave away that she was nervous around you for whatever reason was a bit unsettling. Well at least he knew why she was nervous this time — because he was going to Hogwarts. Sometimes he had to guess.

Remus looked down and clenched the book in between his hands. The boy who introduced himself as James was standing slightly in front of a slightly shorter boy with long black hair, which was drawn back in a ponytail. James didn’t wait for Remus’ reply and sat himself down heavily onto the seat opposite him. The trunk trailing after him floated up onto the rack above his head.

Remus stared at it. His trunk hadn’t done that. Was it a magical trunk? Was it possible that James already knew magic? He had read many of the books assigned on the Hogwarts list already, of course, but he couldn’t do magic like that yet. 

“Remus Lupin,” he mumbled. 

The other boy sat next to James and slunk an arm around his shoulders. “Nice to meet ya Lupin,” he winked. “Call me Sirius. What brings you here?”

Why did it feel like they were gearing up to interview him? It made him feel nervous. He hadn’t prepared himself for a conversation at all, in all honestly. He’d well resigned himself to a quiet train ride.

“If I had to take a guess,” James said with a grin, “I’d have to say he’s going to Hogwarts. You a firstie too?”

“Yes.” Obviously.

“You don’t mind if we sit here, right?” Sirius asked politely, a tone only challenged by the way he spread himself across James in a move to make himself more comfortable. James looked incredibly amused, but seconds later shoved off Sirius’ legs. They went back up.

Remus shook his head. They were interesting to watch, so even if they didn’t ‘part as unlikely friends,’ it would be an entertaining experience at the very least for them to sit with him. And. Well. He doubted they wanted to be his friends, so human interaction just before he spent his inevitable seven lonely years at Hogwarts wasn’t bad, right?

Did he smell weird? Remus bet he smelt like a wet dog or something. He had showered twice before he came, just in case, but with his luck, it was only a matter of time before they noticed something amiss. Sirius and James turned to each other to exchange a fleeting grin, and Remus used the opportunity to risk a quick smell of the sleeve of his wooly jumper.  
  


No, he just smelled like wool and mum’s perfume.

“Wicked, thanks, mate!” Sirius grinned, “what house do you think you’ll be in?”

“Hufflepuff,” Remus muttered. His mum said that that was likely. His dad said that he’d be a Ravenclaw like he had been. Remus just wanted to be unnoticed. 

James snorted. “Well, I’m going to be a Gryffindor! Brave at heart, you know?”

Sirius looked surprised at that. “Gryffindor?” He prodded James.

“Gryffindor’s the best house!” He replied loudly. James picked up one of Sirius’ legs and acted like he was brandishing a sword. Sirius blinked owlishly. “Fighting monsters, taking names. Not a chance you’ll see me anywhere else. Besides, that’s where my soulmate said she was going to go!”

“Your soulmate’s a firstie too?” Sirius asked. He looked a little bit bothered by James’ declaration, but James didn’t seem to notice. Remus watched it all silently from behind his book. He turned a page and feigned nonchalance.

“Yeah! Or at least, I think she must be. Look,” James pulled down his sleeve and Remus watched a little moving illustration of a thought bubble move across his arm, placed just above the inside of his elbow. “See, I got my mark when I was five. Whatever she thinks about appears here, and I saw a lion the other day, so it must be fate!”

As if punctuating his words, the little bubble was soon filled with a 2D image of a tiny strawberry cake, only to be replaced by a small book and then a picture frame with four dark silhouettes inside. James pulled down his sleeve and playfully shoved down Sirius’ legs. Once again, they went back up.

“That’s pretty cool,” Sirius mumbled. Remus noticed he hadn’t said what house he thought he was going to be in. 

“Isn’t she?” James’ teeth showed. “She’s so wicked, you know?”

“Dunno Jamie, I feel bad for her. She probably gets things like boobs showing up on her arm.”

“Hey!” James squawked, “I’m not like that, no she doesn’t!”

Sirius looked utterly smug. “Better hope she’s not showing her friends because now she just did.”

“Oi!”

Remus laughed behind his hand, and both boy’s necks snapped up in his direction. “Oh hey, you made a noise! I’m so proud of you,” James said cheerfully.

“Oh.” Remus coughed awkwardly, and the smile melted off his face. 

Sirius whacked James.

“Sorry mate, just poking fun.”

Remus waved off the apology. He pulled the book up to cover his face, the last thing he saw was Sirius looking disappointed. He knew that James had just been thinking aloud and most likely didn’t mean any harm, but he still felt a bit uncomfortable by the comment.

“My soul mark is a dog,” Sirius said changing the subject. “I’d show you, but right now it’s bouncing around on my ass cheeks.”

James snorted. 

“What kind?” James laughed, “a poodle?”

“Nah mate, it’s a grim.”

“That’s awesome!” His tone changed fast, and Remus tried to hide another laugh.

“Thanks. It appeared last year, and it keeps getting bigger. I reckon one day it’ll be the size and length of my _massive_ —“

The door clattered open, and a sweet elderly lady leaned in. “Anything from the trolley?”

James practically leaped to his feet, and Sirius’ legs were dumped onto the floor. Sirius chuckled and followed him. They practically bought out the entire trolley, and Remus hoped the next students to be offered candy wouldn’t go after them. 

Remus subtly took out a few knuts and bought two chocolate frogs. He thanked the lady and watched her close the door and walk away. He chewed quietly.

“What were you going to say, mate?” James asked through a mouthful of licorice.

“Nothing you should concern yourself with.” The way it was said was like Sirius was doing an impression of someone.

A second passed. He turned to James and whispered something into his ear with a cheeky grin. Remus guessed he was finishing the end of his statement from earlier and part of him wanted him to ask to speak louder, but the other half of him told him to just be quiet and mind his own business. What did it matter if they didn’t want to share something with him? 

James blinked. “You have a big chicken on your ass too?”

“Nah.”

Remus snorted. Well, even if they hadn’t shared it with him, he could guess what Sirius had said. To distract himself, he picked up the chocolate frog card and watched Morgana look at him with faint bemusement. 

Maybe she could tell he was a werewolf or something, her eyes had that particular twinkle in them; like she knew something she shouldn’t. Imagine being outed by a card. He decided to use her as a bookmark.

James looked confused but dropped the subject. “What about you, Lupin?” 

He swallowed. “Soulmate marks?” 

“Yeah.”

Remus pulled up his shirt and showed them a pastel sunflower. “This is it,” he said needlessly. “I got it when I was four.” It had used to be much brighter. 

Usually, when a soul mark faded, it meant their soulmate was dead. Remus’ faded because he was bitten. That was one of the reasons why the ministry didn’t like werewolves; people who didn’t have soul marks didn’t have a soul. That was their logic, and that was Remus’ partial demise.

He hated the ministry. So much, so so so much. And in the end, his sunflower, well—

He didn’t really care about it. It was just another flower. A sign that his ‘illness’ had ruined him. 

(That was a lie, but it didn't matter if it was a lie.) He did care, but that didn't matter.

Remus was as good as dead anyway. As soon as he had become a werewolf, he had become nothing. Worthless. Why would anyone want someone worse than worthless? He was glad that it had faded early before people had known that it was supposed to be bright. Dad looked mournful whenever he saw it as if he thought Remus himself was dead. 

He was no better than the ministry sometimes.

As long as the sunflower was there, no matter how faded it was, Remus could use it to pass himself off as normal. So it wasn’t too bad, but it was in no way good either.

“That’s pretty cool,” Sirius nodded. “I’d have pegged you for a book soul mark kind of person.”

He tilted his head slightly and dropped his shirt back down. “We met around twenty minutes ago. How would you guess that?”

“I’m good at this kind of stuff!” Sirius insisted. “Guessing, that is. I met James just before I met you, and I thought he was pretty chill and he was. I like you, too. So I bet you’re a good bloke.”

“We’re going to rule over Gryffindor.” James nodded solemnly.

Remus didn’t think he’d be fit for anything but Hufflepuff. “What if I’m not?”

“Not Gryffindor?” Sirius asked.

“Uh, what if I’m not a good bloke? What if I’m,” a monster, “not... well, yeah, a Gryffindor?”

“We’ll make it in together,” James promised. Sirius looked uneasy at that but nodded along nonetheless.

Remus stared into Sirius’ eyes, and then slowly moved to stare into James’.

He put down the book.

..

Peter had known from the moment he was three that things were _Wrong_. Things had always been slightly off, ever since he could remember things, and create understandable thought, but it was when he was three that everything clicked together. 

(It’d been when mum was there, and even a year later, it felt like a very long time ago.)

Sunflowers.

They grew at the front of his house, and he watered them to encourage them to grow. His dad called him a ‘pansy’ for it, so he didn’t do it as often as he wanted to, but whenever dad looked away he watered them. They were everywhere, they grew up on the walls of the garage and around the mailbox.

(He watered them every Saturday.)

He liked them. They were something normal, something to look at late at night under the light of the patio as everyone in the street went to bed. 

Sure, it was weird to have such a fascination with flowers when he was four, but his mum used to like them too so he was justified! And if other kids liked dinosaurs, and dolls and balloons, why was it so bad to like flowers? When mum was alive, she used to walk down there in the morning every Saturday, too, and he’d watch her water them.

But then times changed, and Peter took her place. He missed watching her do it, but just because she wasn’t there didn’t mean that life was bad. He still did the exact same things he did when she was there, like stack building blocks and make castles out of blankets and pillows.

Life was normal.

Life was a mixture of sunflowers, dad, memories of mum, and blanket castles. 

(But it wasn’t, not really.)

Dad walked past his room and Peter held his breath — as if it would help, as if it was _necessary_ — and stared at the door covered in painted blue letters spelling out his name. Peter. Was it always Peter? 

(Did it matter?)

Dad... wasn’t a bad person. He just wasn’t much of a good person, either.

Peter was four, and he liked to watch the sunflowers late at night under the light of the patio. They always looked otherworldly, not as bright under the darkness of night, but still there. Even if the sun was gone, they stood facing the sky.

They didn’t give up. They were pretty.

Peter liked sunflowers, it was that simple.

When the footsteps from his dad stopped, he listened to the creaking of the mattress and eventually felt himself relax. He felt guilty for acting like that; like his dad was some sort of criminal, when he did little other than say a few mean things every now and then. Dad deserved the right to be mean. 

It was Peter’s fault that so many things were wrong.

Everything evolved out of circumstance. Whether that be dad’s mean personality or animals in the wild.

Dad’s life sucked. 

(Mum was gone and it was all Peter’s fault—)

Dad didn’t get a normal kid. No, instead he got Peter. 

(Peter hadn’t always been Peter. Once he had been someone different entirely, with a different life and a different — _better_ — family.)

He had never been good at acting four years old. He didn’t ask as many questions as he should have or did as many ‘cute’ or ‘sweet’ things that other kids his age did. At first, he had been proud of his more mature personality, because at least he wasn’t a complete hellion like other four-year-olds, but he came to realise that a hellion kid might have been what dad wanted.

Peter was... not right. An anomaly, a mistake. A drop of poison in a glass of water.

People didn’t like to drink poison, he didn’t know why he expected anyone else to be different. 

Maybe he had expected for everyone to like him, and for everything to turn out okay, just because the universe wanted — for once — to give him something good. Maybe he wanted the universe to say to him, ‘I’m sorry about everything. Here’s another shot.’ 

Well, he got it, in a way. He did get that shot. Right in the dick.

..

The new world he lived in didn’t have the same things as his old one. It didn’t have the same tv channels or even the bright fluorescent ads on the side of some streets. It didn’t have the models of cars that he was used to or the exact same kind of flowers. Later he learned that some of that was because he no longer lived in the same continent let alone the same world, but at that time every object and bush and flower just seemed off.

It wasn’t quite home. He missed home. He didn’t know what home was.

He missed it anyway.

“Get the paper,” dad said when he noticed that Peter was awake. 

Peter dropped the spoon for his cereal and quickly jumped down the bench to stumble across the driveway.

His dad didn’t greet him a lot. When they did see each other, it was usually a greeting through a command. Dad wasn’t a bad person because of that. Peter still got everything he needed; soap, food, hot water, sunshine, and everything else, he was never without anything he really wanted or needed. 

But even so, whenever his dad didn’t say ‘hi’ or ‘I love you’ when before his mum — from both lives — would have, he felt... odd. Not happy, not sad either, just resigned. 

Oh _poor_ him. Peter closed the mailbox and avoided stepping on the pointy rocks with his bare feet, and berated himself in his head. Oh poor _you_ , Peter. The man doesn’t say hi, and you’re all up in arms. It’s not like he hits you or anything.  
  


His life should have been perfect. Some things were wrong, like how his mum was completely and utterly, well, you know, but life should have continued on anyway, shouldn’t it?

He dropped the newspaper in dad’s palm. “Thanks. We’ll cut your hair today, it looks too girly.”

Peter’s hands flew to his scalp and felt the long and slightly wavy strands reaching all the way to his shoulders.

“Can I get a hair tie?” He asked, and sat down next to his cereal. It was slightly inflated from soaking up milk, so he scrunched up his face and soldiered on with a put off expression. It was never the same after it’d been sitting for a while.

“No.”

Peter swallowed his mouthful and nodded obediently to his dad.

His dad eventually rose to his feet after he finished the paper, and slipped on slippers that were by the door. He was still in a basic singlet and pajama pants. Those days he rarely did anything that took above the usual amount of effort, and Peter didn’t blame him for it. Mum’s death was still a fresh wound, and he didn’t expect his dad to ignore it like Peter was trying his best to.

“Get dressed, Pete."

Peter raced up the stairs and was back with a pair of socks in his hand and shoes in the other. He put them on in the car.

He didn’t like their car. It was bare and empty, but even then it was filled with dirt and grit which clung to every surface. His first mum’s car had been the same, except every time she got in she would say something like, “we really need to vacuum this place out one day!” And then inevitably never vacuum that place out one day. Come to think of it, Peter didn’t think they ever got around to doing that at all. Even so, her car always had a comfortable homely vibe to it.

“You really should’ve told me it was getting long, Peter.”

Peter watched the streets pass by in tired speculation. A cat jumped over a fence and he turned his head to watch it land among bushes. 

They passed the town graveyard, and his eyes got caught on the large tree in the center. One day, if his dad had his way, they'd both be buried there. Mum was waiting for them. He didn't want to join her just yet, but when he did, he'd be happy to see her.

“The mirror in the bathroom is still down.” He didn’t really focus much on his appearance anyway. Dad was the one looking at Peter all the time, if it was such a big deal then he would have noticed himself. Peter wasn’t an adult, he was four.

The bathroom was being renovated by his dad, but dad had a habit of leaving things half completed. The shelves were on the dining room bench, taken right out of the bathroom cabinet, and the mirror was in the garage. The mat was scrunched up against the wall covered in grit, and the tiles were taken out altogether.

“Well you sleep on it, don’t ya? The other boys at school are gonna make fun of you.”

“They don’t mind it,” Peter insisted. “Mark has long hair too, it’s in a braid.”

His dad snorted. “He the one with that _hippie_ mother?” The way he said ‘hippie’ made it sound like a slur. “Lady who’s got a few screws loose?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t want to agree with his dad, because he didn’t share the same opinion, but he also wasn’t the stupid type to stand up for her either. He wouldn’t gain anything from it. Perhaps that made him a bad person, so what?

“Must be,” dad said. “Only people like those let their boys have long hair.”

Peter bit his lip.

His dad thought there was only one correct way of doing things. He liked things orderly, with a nuclear family and an expensive house. His dad believed that the world was against him because things hadn’t worked out as he had wanted it to. Peter could relate to that last bit at least.

They didn’t have an expensive house, and they didn’t have a nuclear family, and they didn’t have a lot of money and they didn’t do things that ‘normal’ families did. Those sorts of things were impossible, not when mum was dead and dad didn’t have a very good job, and Peter was, well, Peter. 

His dad was bigoted. Nasty, mean. There were many words for him. Peter didn’t like to admit that, though, because to admit that meant to admit Peter’s life wasn’t as great as he wanted it to be.

From the moment everything in his mind had clicked a year ago, he knew that his life wouldn’t be easy. He’d wait it out, agree with everything his parents said, and then move out to some isolated place with a small house and maybe a dog. 

(But then parents became a parent and the things he had to agree with became harder to agree with.)

He scowled. Poor him, poor Peter. Right. People had much bigger problems than him, he really ought to just suck it up. Some part of him knew that pushing aside his own struggles was probably unhealthy, but even if he knew that the other part of his brain found that unhealthy sort of thing easy. 

His hair got cut. They went back home.

“Hate those godawful flowers,” dad grumbled when they drove up the driveway. Peter looked at him and the flowers briefly while running his hands through his short hair. It almost felt like a buzz cut with how short it was. “Weeds, the lot of ‘em.”

“I like them.”

“You would.”

Peter scrutinized his dad as they slid out of his rusty old truck. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing, ignore it.”

He frowned. “Okay.” Peter sent out one last look at the flowers circulating the mailbox and disappeared inside. He really didn’t like those sort of replies, but there wasn’t much he could do about them.

  
  
What was he meant to even say anyway, huh? ‘Don’t speak to me like that?’ To his dad? Not a chance in hell.

“Oh and Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Take out the trash.”

..

Peter liked going to the shops or to the hairdressers. There were a lot of people around, and Peter had always found people fascinating. Especially with the entirely new aspect of society introduced.

When he had first discovered that soul marks were an actual thing, he had been astounded. Mum had had one, dad had one, the neighbour had one, the neighbours dog didn’t have one but with the way it was so happy all the time, one would think it did—

Soulates made people happy. That was a rule upheld by all society. A couple of people didn’t have them, but that meant they weren’t meant to have one — some people were against that, but they were hard to find. Some had two soulmates. Some had three, four, five, or even more. Some people had platonic soulmates or exclusively sexual soulmates. 

Soul marks could move. They could allow people to blow bubbles out of their fingers, or they could spell out words across their chest or around their ankles. They could have cats or bees that flew across their skin and popped out and fluttered and ran around the place. 

Moving shadows. Heterochromia, a single oddly coloured lock of hair.

(Peter once saw someone with a jellyfish tattoo soul mark. It popped out of their skin, plummeted to the ground, and kind of just sat there. He had stared for a while, but in the end, it hadn’t done anything more than sit there as the man scrambled around trying to force it back onto his skin.)

Marks were fascinating. Some were physical marks, or in some cases, it was like hearing music that their soulmate sang, or having an ability to sense their location once they touched for the first time.

Peter loved to watch people, and guess what kind of soul mark they had. He saw someone with a bond matching their kid’s once, and one time he saw someone have a horse tattoo burst out of their skin, and then they rode it across the market. No one told them off!

_He couldn’t wait to have one._

Dad didn’t show Peter his, but he knew mum had a group of yellow petals on her elbow. They would sometimes flutter up her arm, but they never went anywhere else. When he was a baby, he used to try and catch them. They never really stayed in his hands though.

He didn't remember actually doing that, but he did remember mum telling him about it.

On his bed, Peter drew pictures of people with little birds across their skin, matching one another. It was late afternoon and he was tired out. He missed the internet. He wasn’t good at drawing, but it was something to do. Peter played with blocks and did all sorts of boring and useless things, but there weren’t any other options so he did it anyway; one could argue he could go outside, but he’d honestly rather just die from boredom.

He was four, and he knew if he got cocksuckered by a bloke even just once, he’d be down for the count. He wasn’t risking it, dad, he wasn’t insane.

Peter was in the middle of drawing a really terrible imitation of a magpie — they weren’t in his small village, he missed them — when he heard an awful sawing noise. He dismissed it to be his dad staring up a new hobby and continued the beak. Maybe he was finally working on the bathroom again.

Dad had used to do more fidgety things, like bracelets and charms once upon a time with mum, but he went to the more ‘manly’ hobbies after. Dad said manly was better.

Peter continued to draw his magpies and birds all the way through the day until he was finally called up for dinner. He raced up and sat at the bench, and his dad put down a meal with sausages and other simple items.

He thanked him and ate quickly. His dad was a good cook at the very least.

“Dad, you think I’ll get a bird as a soul mark?”

Dad grunted in reply while eating. After a few seconds, he replied. “Nah. Bet you’ll get something big.”

“Like a truck?”

“Could be.”

“Or, or a dog, like the neighbour’s.”

“Hm.”

Maybe he would get a “dinosaur!”

“Mm.”

“Actually no, it might get annoying after a while. Maybe I’ll get petals like mum did.”

Dad’s expression soured.

Peter continued to eat, his eyes down on his plate. He didn’t notice the change in expression, and so he, therefore, didn’t notice how the mood seemed to darken.

“Boys don’t get petals.”

Peter blinked. “People get all sorts of soul marks!”

“Boys,” he said slowly, “don’t get petals. They get bears and trucks and cool stuff.”

“Okay.” They didn’t get petals, right.

He looked up and froze a little bit at the dark look on his dad’s face, and couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d said something wrong; something more than just mention his mum or imply that 'men and women didn’t have to fit into a strict guideline.' He subtly shoved food in his mouth faster.

His dad calmed down, and after a brief silence, he started to talk again. “Listen here, bud. We men are fated to be with a hot woman. All you gotta do is find the right one, and grab ‘er quick.”

Peter felt a bit uneasy, and really didn’t like looking back on his mum as some hot woman his dad managed to ‘grab.’ He played around with his fork. He had finished eating, but it seemed like it would make him angry if he were to move at that point, so he stuck it out and listened to dad talk.

“To get a woman, you need to be tough. Brave. You gotta be a man. You’re not gonna get petals as your soul mark, ‘cos men don’t get girly shit like that. Women like that sort of girly stuff because they’re meant to.”

Peter didn’t really understand, but his dad seemed really into it.

Dad erupted into a massive speech and Peter dutifully ignored him and chewed his food. He absently looked out the window and glimpsed the boughs of a large tree a long while away.

Mum got petals as her soul mark. They covered her arm. He had never seen his dad’s soul mark. Those facts were going through Peter’s head, and he wondered to himself as he watched his dad rant on.

Soul marks, his mind echoed as his dad’s mouth opened and closed, matched. 

Some people had things like a lock and a key, and so they matched. Some had soul marks exactly the same, or some had different ones; for example, a watering can with a leaf on it on one person and a leaf that matched the picture on the other, a constant was that it was clear they matched.

If one person had a moving one that went in circles, the other had a moving one that went in circles. If one had an animal, one had a matching or very similar animal. If one had a mark that could make things appear in reality through blowing on it, like bubbles, so did the other.

Dad didn't think men got petals.

Mum had petals.

Peter couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, if dad didn’t like petals then maybe his parents hadn’t been a match after all.

“You loved mum, right?” Peter mumbled softly.

Dad looked disappointed that he was interrupted, and looked down at him. “I guess. So?”

“If men don’t get petals, does that mean you’re not mums soulmate?”

Dad snorted, and a bit of food showed through his big toothy grin. “The best thing about your mum,” he said, “was her tits.” He didn’t answer the question. And, and —

Peter’s jaw clenched, and his eyes widened in surprise. He had always thought that his dad had really loved Peter’s mum; with the way he stared at her photos in the halls sometimes, he used to even think his parents were the pinnacle of love and devotion. To have that spat out at him was like... well, it was bad. He didn’t like that.

Dad noticed. “Oh toughen up. Ain’t nothing wrong with appreciating a girl’s tits. Liana was smoking, fucking sucked that she had to kick the bucket so soon.”

“Dad?” Peter’s worldview was shaken.

“Want to know a secret, Peter?”

Peter was too busy trying to still his breathing. He wanted to throw his plate at his dad. The anger was fast and hard, and the effort of keeping it back was turning his knuckles white.

“Here it is.” His dad continued, “sure, I guess I shouldn’t be swearing and all that at a four-year-old. But there’s the thing: you’re four. You won’t remember this past next week, let alone next year. The truth about your mother, Peter, is that she was a whore.”

“Mum loved you,” Peter whispered.

He thought of mum watering the sunflowers every Saturday, and making bracelets with dad in the mornings while laughing over a few well-placed jokes. He thought of mum singing in the morning while making breakfast, and kissing Peter’s cheek when he raced through the house with a small book in tow.

“She was a whore.” Dad repeated slowly as if he was stupid.

(They definitely weren’t soulmates, then. Dad didn’t answer the question, but it was clear.)

“She wasn’t a whore,” he mumbled.

Mum had spent a lot of time with Peter growing up. She braided his hair, and always laughed when she found it was too short for some patterns. She organised his socks according to colour, and bought him puzzles that she helped solve with him. She read him books and made fun of dad with him when he’d do weird things like not taking off his shirt while swimming or pull silly faces at neighbours at backs as they walked by.

“She was,” he said in a sing-song tone. "If she wasn't matched up with me, who knows what she'd have 'bin up to?"

Mum hugged him close and sang pretty songs under her breath to lull him to sleep.

“She wasn’t.”

Mum smiled in a way that her cheeks lifted up, and the world shone.

“She was,” dad repeated.

_Mum watered the sunflowers with him every Saturday._

“She wasn’t a whore! She was amazing and brilliant and she deserved much better than you!” He cracked, and tears slowly began to gather in his eyes. “You’re disgusting, I hate you. You’re the worst dad in the world!”

Dad’s cheerful and mocking expression melted like candle wax. “Now, Peter. Watch your tongue.”

“No,” he whispered. Dad still looked unamused, so he raised his voice and repeated himself. “No! Listen, you’re horrible. Ever since mum died, you’ve been the worst. Not everyone’s out to get you. Just because a guy wears a skirt doesn’t mean he’s a nut job. Just because the girl across the road has a bear as a soul mark doesn’t mean she’s an invalid. Mum was better than you.”

“What do you know?” Dad roared, “you don’t know shit! You’re four. I bet Liana told you that, she always was an annoying woman. What are you, a pansy, Peter? Is that what you fucking are, you shit head?”

“You're not even mums soulmate are you?” Peter hissed. “I know you’re not. Mum was better than you ever were.”

Dad laughed, and it was cold and low. Peter’s anger dried like water in a desert, and he swallowed as he rose to his feet and leaned over him.

“Is that what it is?” He whispered to Peter. “Paranoia? Think your good ol’ dad didn’t find the right whore?”

Dad reached for the edge of his shirt and drew it up slowly, teasingly. It rose over his hips, and then it was held stiffly over his abdomen. Peter breathed heavily, and his mouth felt dry. No.

No.

_No_.

“Now, Peter. Why don’t you tell me what you see?”

Peter didn’t answer, he just shook his head slowly, his eyes glued to his chest. Over his left hip, under his rib cage, was —

“I’ll answer for you, shall I?” He didn’t grin, but his cold expression seemed almost joyful as if reveling in Peter’s horror. “It’s a jar. And what’s in it?”

“Men don’t have petals,” Peter said slowly. “You said they didn’t have them.”

“Maybe I lied. It’s not something to be fucking proud of. You won’t tell anyone, will ya?” No wonder he never took his shirt off around Peter. “Good men hide what they’re not supposed to have. Just like we did cutting your hair.”

“Mum was your soulmate.” A revelation. A dawning sense of horror.

“Fucking _obviously_.”

“Why’d you say that, that — that guys didn’t have petals if you had them?”

“I answered that, didn’t I? Now, I think today’s gone long enough. Why don’t you fuck off to bed?”

Peter stared at the shirt, in the place he knew the jar lay beneath. The jar had been grey and faded, the yellow petals dull and still beneath the foggy glass. It matched his mum, no doubt about it. 

If soulmates were meant to be, then how did that make sense?

His mum had been beautiful. Kind, sweet, motherly. Dad had not been like that even when she was alive, but Peter had never noticed, too caught up in gardening and drawing and building blocks and blanket castles.

( _Why could he never be immature without something bad happening? Without something that should have been discovered being looked over? It wasn’t like his dad was something he could have prevented from happening, but he should have seen the signs earlier._ )

Even bad people got soulmates. Peter had never understood that more than that day.

“Ungrateful brat.”

He went to bed in cold sweats. His stomach ached and ached, even though it was full.

Even if Peter was good, what was to say he’d get a good soulmate? It must be the case that somewhere in the world, it came to a point where the universe had to share the leftovers between the fates of the people in the world remaining. Peter had thought the soul mark system a fantastic fantasy, but it was nothing but a gamble.

He didn’t want to be stuck with someone like his dad, just because a mark said so. 

(He had been reborn in a tragedy. He just knew it. It was just his luck; no doubt, the universe was laughing at him, and he was one of the unlucky few stuck with a leftover person in the world. Someone outright ghastly and sickly. No doubt, the universe had its eyes on him. No doubt, it expected him to search the world like a lovesick puppy like so many others, only to make fun of him as his soulmate kicked his heart like a can.)

Fuck that. He didn’t owe anyone anything. Hell, he was fine on his own. He didn’t need a soulmate. He didn’t need anyone.

(He woke up to sunshine on his face, and he pulled back his curtains to see the flowers that had once prospered across the mailbox and the front garden decimated. The roots pulled up and dumped in trash cans, the flowers cut up and scattered across the dirt. His stomach still hurt, and when he looked down he saw a large sunflower, spread wide and bright under his ribs in the exact same place his dad’s had been. In the back of his mind he heard a timer start to tick down.)

..

Remus didn’t expect to be sorted into Gryffindor. Sure, James and Sirius had agreed to it, but Sirius had looked so disbelieving of it that Remus hadn’t taken the idea that seriously either. 

It was when Sirius had actually gotten sorted that the idea had really taken a hold of him.

Sirius Black.

That was his name, and he was as pureblood as you could get. Dad told him about purebloods, and laughed a lot when he did so. “Inbred up to their noses,” he had said. “And just as nasty to boot.”

Sirius didn’t look very nasty, but Remus had seen his face while he had been under the hat, and his dad’s words clicked in his head firmly then. Sirius’ scowl was like a thousand fire ants. 

(But then he had defied all expectations and cast the hall into silence, and his smile was a thousand times brighter than usual as if to make up for it.)

Remus sat next to Sirius, who looked less happy than before. Remus could see the glares from the Slytherin table, so he could guess why. Sirius no doubt had a very pure blood idealistic household who were strictly Slytherin and nothing else. Ravenclaw would have been a horror show, Gryffindor was sacrilege.

“Now we’ve just got to wait for James,” Sirius muttered to Remus. 

“Glad you’re here,” Remus replied, his eyes firmly on the hat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius look surprised before smiling as brightly as earlier, and he knew the comment had landed well.

When James got called up, it was no surprise that he ended up in Gryffindor. James pulled both Remus and Sirius apart and sat between them. “Hope food arrives soon, I’m starving.” He flicked Sirius’ forehead and grinned as he let out a sharp yelp. “Didn’t know you were a Black. I’m usually strictly against Blacks, you know, as a rule. But you seem alright.”

“My name’s based on a star. Don’t know what you expected.”

“When you grow up hearing names like ‘Slugmorn’ and ‘Dumbledore,’ you eventually start to ignore that kind of stuff.”

Remus frowned and chimed in. “I think one of those names is meant to be Slughorn. Dad mentioned him, he’s the potions professor.”

“Oh, that was what it was!” James laughed, “Well yeah okay, I forgot it, but by the time I was talking it was either ‘Slugmorn’ or ‘Slugcorn.’ I went for the lesser of two evils. Man, I feel bad for the bloke, Slug _horn_ is even worse.”

Sirius was looking between the two of them silently, steadily ignoring the glares from his relatives across the hall.

“It's a bit of a shame,” Remus said solemnly. “Some people have the worst luck with names.”

“Sorry, Wolfy Mc’wolf? I couldn’t hear you.”

He frowned at James. “You’re just a sad sack because you have the most basic name in existence.”

“Actually,” a Gryffindor sixth year chimed in, “I’m his cousin, and I hear his middle name is Fleamont.”

James squawked while Sirius laughed loudly, and after a while, Remus laughed too.

(Another Gryffindor also sat at their table, but they were too distracted to notice.)

..

Peter ignored his new roommates. He knew about them, there was no way he didn’t — but he didn’t care enough about them to smile at them or strike up a conversation. He nodded simply and went to set out his things near his bed.

He ended up a Gryffindor. He didn’t worry about his most likely eventual death at the hands of James’ kid, because he wasn’t going to follow the storyline. He was going to bleed into the background and cruise by life; watching the world go by.

(He wouldn’t die at his own silver hand. He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. He’d avoid them all to the very last breath, and die on his own terms.)

“Brave,” the hat had said. “Knowledge beyond your years, stubborn too. Cold, untrusting. And anger, too. _Lots_ of anger. I rarely meet an eleven-year-old as angry as you. You’ll need friends for that, so I know just what to do with you.”

He’d been sorted in one minute. The hat didn’t question him on his knowledge. He didn’t think it cared, or maybe it’d been through it before. Maybe it couldn’t see that far.

Peter didn’t know and didn’t care that much either. Even if he was ‘angry’ as an eleven-year-old, if the hat aired his dirty laundry to the world, Peter knew that when he became an even angrier fifteen-year-old, he’d have gotten back to the hat with a baseball bat.

Maybe the hat had seen that.

His roommates talked loudly, and they laughed even louder. Up in their dorm, Peter prepared for bed.

“Really?” The one he knew to be James asked with wide eyes and a big goofy smile, “he crashed right into the statue?”

“Yeah! Poor Reggie didn’t understand that when you put wheels on your feet and get pushed down the stairs, you move. Mum wasn’t too pleased.”

Remus snorted. “I notice you used the word ‘pushed.’”

Sirius looked bashful.

Peter straightened up his pillows one last time and sat on the edge. He’d gotten changed in the bathroom while the others had changed out in the open. He sat down and was about to hitch up the covers when his roommates seemed to look at him all at once. 

Peter felt like he missed something.

“Sorry, what?”

Sirius smiled awkwardly. “We were talking about soulmates.”

Oh, fun.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got this,” James said proudly. He displayed his arm, and a little bubble had three Z’s flowing around faintly. “I’m James Potter by the way. That one’s Sirius Black, and silent but deadly is Remus Lupin.”

Sirius winked. Remus frowned. “I can introduce myself.” He turned to Peter and smiled in greeting, “well you know who I am now. Nice to meet you.”

Sirius tackled him onto Remus’ bed, and Remus let out a strangled and surprised laugh. 

James cheered them on, and Peter was about to turn back to his bed when Sirius stopped elbowing Remus in the ribs long enough to quickly gesture at his arm, which had a big black dog running across it. Remus climbed off the bed and neatened up his hair, Peter didn’t see the point of that because they were just about to go to sleep, but he didn’t speak up about it.

“Dog,” Sirius said simply. “His name is Snuffles.”

“ _Snuffles_?” James laughed, and he was was the next tackled into the bed.

“I’ve got a flower,” Remus spoke over James, and elbowed him,

Peter nearly smiled at the irony. 

“Cool,” Peter intoned, “I’m Peter Pettigrew, and my soulmate’s dead. Goodnight.”

He closed his curtains, turned off the light next to his bed, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

.

..

.

James, Sirius, and Remus stared at the closed curtains.

Huh.

“That... just happened,” James said slowly. 

“What a bright ray of sunshine,” Sirius intoned.

Remus looked at them with furrowed eyebrows. “His soulmate is... cut him some slack. Maybe it’s, maybe it’s recent. We should probably sleep now.”

His good mood vanished, and he felt everything inside himself calm down and relax in a put off manner. 

“You can’t just brush past that!” James insisted to Remus.

Remus remembered the wolf and the parents that never stopped worrying. 

“We can. He’s obviously not open to talking, so we should just let him be for the moment. He’ll talk to us if he wants to. Also, I’m tired, and Sirius is halfway to his bed already.”

James mouthed ‘traitor’ to Sirius. 

Sirius shrugged and put a knee onto his bed, where he then picked up the blanket and straightened it out. He looked at the colours for a long while, and then shook his head a little bit and set himself under the covers. All the while James frowned at him.

“He’s interesting,” James said after a while. “I want to see what he’s like.”

Remus straightened books on his side table while talking lowly, “do it in the morning.”

James groaned and face planted down onto his bed.

The lights went out.

There was a pause.

“Forgot to take my glasses off.”

..

  
  


Peter wasn’t good with people. He might have been if he tried, but there really was no point to it. He was good with few things, and if one of those things was ‘the ability to make people avoid you like the plague,’ then so what? He took advantage of that ability because in the end, it was for his own good.

He said what he said because he knew it would work as a deterrent. It would keep him safe, in other words.

It was better than not showering and getting people away from him that way. His new body appeared decent, and he didn’t want to ruin that. He wasn’t ruining his blonde curls for anyone.

What Peter hadn’t been expecting was for James to be so persistent. James treated Peter’s personality as a game, like Peter was a thing to conquer. Sirius didn’t notice, but he thought Remus did. James didn’t hold back at all when asking about things he really wasn’t supposed to in a social setting, or at all.

“When did they die?” Wasn’t a good question, but James asked it anyway. Peter had rolled his eyes and moved a desk away from him, McGonagall looked astounded on his behalf and didn’t berate Peter for moving. Peter liked McGonagall. She had made ten students shriek when she transfigured from a cat to a person.

So what if Peter had shrieked too? The moment was gold.

James had gotten into the habit of looking over Peter’s arms and body whenever he saw him, and Peter was understandably uncomfortable. He didn’t think James meant to upset him, in James’ mind it might have been friendly teasing, but Peter also thought that James was more mentally constipated than he was.

“What does it look like? Come on, please? I know they’re supposed to disappear but since you hide in the bathroom to get changed, well...”

Peter hated eleven-year-olds.

“Go choke,” Peter scoffed. Remus didn’t look surprised, but Sirius gasped, defensive. James followed Peter to potions, and behind him were his friends. 

Peter almost missed the days he practiced light footsteps so that he’d perfect the art of escaping to his room without his dad noticing and yelling at him.

Almost. His dad was an asshole. Peter couldn’t believe he used to think he was a good person. He scoffed again, and James looked at him oddly.

“You got something in your throat?” He asked, with no hostility. Peter hated that James meant no harm. It made it harder for Peter to slide him into a category in his mind that simply read, ‘annoying persistent fuckhead.’ By that point, James was more in the ‘annoying persistent dick.’ Slight swearword change, huge difference.

“No,” he mumbled.

“You know, my dad once got a frog stuck in his throat!” James started to weave a storyline and Peter wanted to run away to a tropical oasis somewhere and not look back.

He could feel Sirius’ glare on the back of his neck.

Why couldn’t the guy see that Peter didn’t want to be there either? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comment, criticise. I don’t mind, in fact, I’d really appreciate feedback
> 
> ..  
> My apologies for using the word ‘whore’ in a derogatory way  
> Edit: changed ‘g*psie’ to ‘hippie.’ I’m sorry about that, I thought it was just another name for hippie; but that’s not really an excuse, and I’ll make sure to do more research in the future before I use a word  
> ..
> 
> The aim for this fic was originally around 130,000 or something like that, but forewarning I might go over that. 
> 
> Either way, it is a bit long and there are many threads of it everywhere, so if there’s anything I haven’t explained, please point it out to me because I have a habit of not noting everything down. If I haven’t explained something well enough, like I haven’t added enough detail, feel free to point that out too.
> 
> I started this with the intention of furthering my writing ability, so if you have any pointers, I’d love to hear them. 
> 
> * Many self-insert recommendations in the comment section of chapter 3 (-:


	2. First Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First year comes and goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only 6000, the next will be around 10000
> 
> I’ve finished my exams! That’s pretty cool!

Peter found Hogwarts fascinating. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t hate it either.

It was — yeah. Whatever.

Most of the time he was just tired.

Tired, because of the amount of students around the place, because of the cats wandering around the hallways, because of the paintings; which rarely shut up, because of James Potter, screaming plants in Herbology, sixth years making too much noise in the common room, Dumbledore who smelled weird sometimes and, studying.

Some students there were insane in their studies. He caught students studying in the Great Hall during meals, sometimes forgoing the tables completely and camping out on the floor in circles. They never got told off, maybe out of teacher’s want to not get involved in whatever _that_ was. Sometimes Peter thought the teachers were just glad that the Ravenclaws even ate.

First years, collectively, didn’t need to study that much. But when Peter did, he holed himself up in a discrete corner of the library where he flipped through pages at a rapid pace and glared at anyone who looked like they had dark hair and glasses.

(On the days James actually ventured into the library, Peter had a small handy-dandy rock he kept beside him that he made sure to chuck in his general direction.)

(He was so obnoxious and annoying, and nothing Peter ever said ever nailed in the fact that Peter _didn’t like him._ Peter liked to believe he wasn’t that _manipulative_ , so he said things outright. And he’d told James he didn’t like him numerous times, but he always came back, so therefore; small portable rock. It didn’t deal damage because it was so small and lightweight, but it did make Sirius whisk James away so, there was that.)

After the first three months of Peter sequestering himself away from his dorm mates, Remus had apparently seemed to notice that James wouldn’t give up on asking Peter annoying questions and so at Christmas he gifted Peter a tiny crappy-quality water gun, with ‘Potter Repellant’ sharpied on the side. 

It was a nice gesture, one that Peter had appreciated but hadn’t returned.

James had been indignant when he noticed the bad quality gift; it was the type that could be bought for thirty cents or so at a corner store. His frown at Remus was almost in a defensive way, but had brightened up when Peter had snorted at the sight of the toy.

Sirius ignored the situation entirely.

James had gotten him a packet of magic stickers, which Peter crammed into the bottom of his trunk. Sirius hadn’t gotten him anything, but Peter hadn’t expected him to; Peter hadn’t gotten any of them a single thing; he didn’t have the money or the will.

And—

(Peter wasn’t _dumb_ , he knew why Remus got him a gift. The end of his bed was empty that Christmas morning, other than James’ sticker packet, so Remus had taken pity on him while he wasn’t looking. Peter didn’t appreciate pity, but he kept the water gun anyway.)

Sirius was... angry at Peter. He was protective of his friends. He therefore, funnily enough, didn’t take kindly to Peter throwing rocks at his best friend.

(He wasn’t as upset when Peter used the water gun — probably because he found it a bit funny. It’d get replaced with the rock again soon. The water gun kept breaking.)

“I’m telling you, James, he’s bad! He should have been in Slytherin, I swear.” 

Peter’s back pressed against the wall, and he strained his ears to hear the two boys in the corridor. It was after classes, and he had been going back to the library to study when he’d seen them, so he’d hid to listen in. The faces they were making were interesting; he really didn’t want to interrupt. He was also curious, which was why he stayed rather than finding another way around them.

He held the books to his chest and tried to breath quieter.

“Many people say _you_ were meant to be in Slytherin,” James defended him, as loyal to Peter as ever. Too loyal.

( _Peter didn’t deserve that._ )

“Shut up!” Sirius bristled. “Shut up, you don’t know anything! I’m not... I’m _not_. I thought you _knew_ that —“

“Exactly, you’re not.” James agreed easily, “Come on, he got sorted here too. I don’t think the hat makes mistakes.”

It did, if Peter remembered correctly.

“I’m not meant to be in Slytherin,” Sirius hissed, surprisingly hostile. “I... _deserve_ to be here.”

“I know, mate. You’re the bravest Gryff of us all.”

“Yeah, and... Peter _isn’t_.”

“Sirius,” James drew out, “don't.”

“He’s not a good guy, James! You need to understand that. He... he ignores us, he doesn’t think you’re his friend. He throws rocks at you. Rocks! I don’t care how small they are, that’s not right. He’s also tells us to, and I quote, ‘fuck off,’ all the time. You shouldn’t hang out with him!”

Peter cradled a book to his chest. It was true, so why was he so upset?

Suck it up.

His dad’s voice ran through his head, and he held in a breath and let it out slowly.

(“Want to know a secret, Peter?”)

( _It was good that Peter understood their characters from the very beginning. It was good. It was fine, it was fine, it was all well and fucking dandy. It would... it would only benefit him._ )

(Well shit, maybe he _was_ manipulative.)

“He’s not a bad guy. He’s just... shy. He’s interesting, and you can’t tell me not to be friends with him!”

Peter found himself waiting for Sirius’ words to no doubt inform James just how wrong he was, when Peter caught himself and realised that well, fuck that. Peter didn’t care. He didn’t.

Sirius was _right_ , Peter was terrible and _horrible_ and bad and _bad_ and _bad_. He was cold and withdrawn. He didn’t need anyone but himself.

Peter was many things. Small, mean, angry. Tired.

_Bad_.

The argument was... good. Great. It was an opportunity.

With that realisation, Peter decided to nip the argument at the bud, and walked around the corner and acted like it was a surprise to see them there. The two shared looks and James stepped forward to no doubt smile and greet him cheerfully like always, but Peter glared and took a step back.

Peter slowly drew in a deep breath and gripped the strap of his bag.

“He’s right,” Peter said. The statement revealed that he had been listening the whole time.

Sirius clenched his jaw.

“I’m not a good person. I know I don’t look it, but I really am rather terrible.” He made sure to say it in a tone that one usually used to comment on the weather. “I’m not shy. I don’t want to be your friend. I find you annoying, insensitive, childish and _boring_.“

(He would not die at his own silver hand. He would not be a friend to them, he would not be a traitor, he would not be anything but what he himself wanted to be.)

If he was meant to be by himself, then, who cared?

(If he accomplished that by looking down on everyone around him, then who _fucking_ cared?)

James looked like those words hit close to home, and just when Peter was feeling slight relief, and something else he couldn’t quite identify, James snapped. “You’re not a bad person! You’re just...” Peter raised his eyebrows mockingly.

“He is,” Sirius snipped. “He says it like it’s nothing. Like he’s proud of it. And what if it’s not true, like you think? Just because he _thinks_ it’s true, he _believes_ it; means he’ll become a bastard either way! You’re better off not hanging around him.”

James, for the first instance in all the time Peter had known him, looked unsure. “You don’t really think that, do you?” Who he addressed looked unclear.

Peter licked his lips.

( _He thought of cut down sunflowers, shredded in the dirt. He thought of a man meant to be Peter, strangled by his own hand, doomed by the friendships from his youth. He always knew he was going to avoid those friendships. He didn’t feel bad for it. It was self preservation, hardly a crime._ )

Peter had always been selfish.

Sick of the confrontation, he flipped them off and walked down the hallway. He felt... sick, at the idea of speaking aloud again. Of standing there and listening to them argue any longer on whether he was good or not. No wands were aimed in his direction, so he took advantage of their silence to rush down the hallway cooly.

“He’s a dick,” Peter heard Sirius say to a quiet James as Peter approached the corner. “Told you, you’re better off without him. C’mon, let’s get dinner.”

James’ voice was barely above a whisper. “But I thought...”

Peter looked back once, but they had both disappeared behind the corner.

(So what if he was selfish? Or dumb? Or mean? He was alive, and he wanted to stay that way.)

(He told himself that he was the victim. That was easier to deal with.)

..

“He’s always sick!” Sirius complained face-down into his pillow.

His voice was muffled and whiney, and James must have been imitating him, because his answering whine was wordless and just as muffled.

Peter flipped the page of the book he was reading. The curtain was fully drawn around his bed, and Peter had used permanent sticking charms to stick pictures of frogs to it.

Frogs were great.

He’d asked Professor McGonagall, and she’d told him that keeping frogs as pets was allowed due to their close genetic relationship with toads. That meant that in the future, he would be allowed to get a frog. He would have started saving up for it — by stealing money from his dad’s wallet — but he didn’t have access to that at the moment, and he was also aware that he could always just walk outside and find his own frog.

They were literally everywhere at Hogwarts.

“I miss him! I want to throw a pillow at his face.”

James gave an affirmative whine but otherwise didn’t answer.

“I swear one day he’ll tell me how he keeps getting permission to go home. Not that I want to, but Merlin I’m curious.”

“Maybe he needs to visit his soulmate back at his house?”

“He hasn’t found his soulmate, dumbass.”

James hummed, “it was just an idea.”

Peter rolled his eyes and flipped another page.

Great, he wasn’t paying attention to the book anymore. He decided to give up on it, so he made himself more comfortable in the blankets and curled up. The fact that the house-elves cleaned his sheets all the time was nothing short of fantastic; when he would inevitably move away from everything, it would be with a house-elf in tow.

James’s bed creaked, and he lifted his head from his pillow to speak louder. “It’s his mum who was sick this time, so maybe being sick runs in their family.”

Peter massaged his eyelids. ‘Being sick runs in their family.’ Alright.

“Poor lad. He was looking peaky. Argh,” James groaned, “I want him back!”

“You act like Remus is _your_ soulmate.”

James snorted, and the sound of ruffling fabric passed through Peter’s curtain. A frog on his curtain smiled disarmingly at Peter when he shot a glare in the general direction of his dorm-mates. Had they ever heard of shutting up?

Sirius laughed. “Notebooks? You got yourself a Ravenclaw. Or maybe it really is Remus.”

Ah, James must have revealed his soulmark in order to disprove Sirius. Merlin, why did Peter even _care?_

“Nah, she’s a girl I reckon, and she’s got to be a Gryffindor.”

“If you’re sure, mate.”

“‘Course.”

Peter leaned back in the brief lull in conversation. His eyelids drooped.

“Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“Boobs.”

There was a loud shriek, and James must have tackled Sirius; the ground shook.

“Stop making me think about them! What if she sees?”

Although Peter hadn’t gotten a full explanation of James’ soulmark, he had managed to figure out that anything James thought about would appear in his soulmate’s thought bubble and vice-versa. It was placed on James’ arm. From what he’d heard and seen, his soulmate was rather interested in sugary dishes, books, flowers and particular silhouettes. The images flickered around and changed constantly.

In figuring this out, Sirius had decided to fuck with James and his soulmate.

“Boobs,” Sirius repeated between gasps for air.

“Suck a dick!”

Sirius gasped dramatically. “You kiss your mother with that mouth? No, don’t make that face. Don’t let me stop you Jamie, I’m sure your soulmate likes seeing dicks on their skin too.”

“See, this is why I want Remus back.”

“We both know he would join in.”

Peter frowned softly to himself and curled up tighter in his blankets.

Eventually it got dark, and the voices hushed down to soft snores and the occasional delirious mumble. Peter drew back his curtain and snuck into the bathroom, where he changed into pyjamas and brushed his teeth. On the way back he paused and looked at Remus’ empty bed. It was made, with the pillows slightly lopsided. A soft blue blanket was draped across the covers.

Peter bit his lip, and looked towards the two filled beds with their curtains drawn. He kneeled down beside his own and took out a box he had locked with a magical password.

“Liana,” he whispered, and the box popped open to reveal a large variety of sweets and candy. He dug out a couple of chocolate frogs and put them on Remus’ nightstand.

Peter hadn’t given him a Christmas gift in exchange for the water gun, so it was to pay him back in a way. He didn’t want to be in any sort of debt, stated or not. He also didn’t mind Remus; he was nice without being overbearing like James had been. Remus didn’t push Peter for a friendship.

(Peter also knew that Remus had a tough life in the past and it would continue to be hard in the future. It wasn’t a sin to want to help make it a slight bit better. He wasn’t searching for a friendship, he was just paying back a kind action.)

James had given up on Peter after that conversation in the corridor.

It was a relief, but it was by no means a memory Peter looked back on and smiled about.

He turned off his light, and curled under the blankets. Peter watched the frogs leap around the inside of his curtains, and finally, drifted off to sleep.

..

The students at Hogwarts had a big variety of soulmarks. It wasn’t out of place for a teacher to yell something like, “please refrain from letting your monkey do handstands on my desk,” or “I don’t care that you want to see your soulmate, it’ll happen eventually, stop flashing everyone.”

Peter was tired.

Soulmates and soulmarks were in everyday life, so much to an extent that they offered a class on it once students were in third year.

An introduction could be as simple as, “Seth Evergarden, Cottage, on my hip.” Or as lengthy and thought provoking as, “Dirk Smith, got a picture of myself on my bicep. I’ve found my soulmate, it’s me. It’s understandable because I’m hot as — oh hey Professor, fancy seeing you here, my, aren’t the mandrakes flourishing?”

Life at Hogwarts was interesting. Hearing about soulmarks all the time grew to be very boring after a while though.

(It wasn’t because he was jealous. He was just... tired.)

“She was thinking about petunias,” James bragged. He was spreadeagled on his back, his head at a cushion so he could watch as the little thought bubble popped up, flickering through images. “Isn’t she the best?”

Peter was leaning back on his own bed too, books surrounded him at all ends. He was highlighting information and putting them in dot points on parchment at his side. The library was closed, because someone had accidentally given one of the books self awareness.

Personally, Peter didn’t think that it could’ve possibly be an accident, but whatever. Unfortunately the ordeal meant he had to study in either the common room or his bed, and the common room was too cold. And the sixth years were too loud. They never shut up. Ever.

“Now it’s about a person, is it me? I bet it’s me.” On his arm was a blank profile, and James rubbed it good heartedly.

“Couldn’t be, that silhouette is too put together, your hair’s too messy,” Remus teased.

“That’s Remus talk for ‘fucked up.’” Sirius clarified.

Peter found eleven year olds fascinating.

“I wonder what she’s seeing in hers?” James ignored them.

“Hair?” Remus suggested.

“Boobs?”

“Sirius, shut up!”

Remus grinned suddenly. “Oh yeah, she was definitely watching her mark then.”

On James’ arm was an exclamation point, and then a barely covered female chest popped up. James gasped, horrified. Sirius cackled and grinned wickedly.

“Shit!”

“I fucking love this,” Sirius barked, and loud laughing followed.

“Sirius!”

“Now she’s probably seeing a profile — oh look, it’s a horrified expression. Didn’t know your arm could show emotions. That’s wicked!” Remus teased James, who looked like he was about to die.

Peter glimpsed a little face that resembled a shocked emoticon. He subtly pinched his arm so he didn’t laugh.

“Can’t believe I used to be jealous of you for that sort of soulmark!” Sirius said between gasps, “this is brilliant.”

“Guys! Stop! She probably hates me now!” James cried out.

“Boobs.”

“Sirius!” James yelled.

“That’s definitely an angry face.” Remus mused.

“Sirius!” James repeated, and then tackled him to the floor. Sirius’ back hit the ground among laundry and discarded studying supplies. He coughed out loud laughter among wheezes.

And... Peter’s studying was done.

He sighed and stood up, and the room fell silent. He politely ignored them and absently ruffled his hair, where he then bundled up some books and walked to the door. The library wasn’t open, but maybe people had books that were already checked out he could trade with.

Cold and loud or not, his roommates were louder. And the common room probably had the fireplace going.

The room remained silent until he closed the door, where he heard the tail end of a whisper. He couldn’t make out the words.

Peter sat down on a chair near the fire and quietly surveyed the occupants of the common room, but couldn’t spot any from his year with a book that he needed.

Well, fuck, that was useless. He wasn’t going back to the dorm though. He sat there for a few minutes flicking through moving pictures in his textbooks.

“Hey, you’re Peter Pettigrew, right?”

Rarely a good sign when someone knew your name before you introduced yourself.

A girl with bright green eyes looked down at him, with residue anger in the lines on her forehead. She looked like she was trying to keep a sweet face on.

“Yes.” Unfortunately.

“That book, there. Can I borrow that after you’re done with it? Usually I’d go to the library but someone cursed the books and so the teachers barricaded us out.”

He hadn’t spotted her when he had done a cursory glance, and it was good she had the same idea as he had. She didn’t have any books with her, so they must’ve been back up in her room.

Peter frowned. “Yeah, I’m done with them already — and I thought it was only one book that got cursed.”

“I think it was contagious. Dunno, think it was a senior prank. Weird, ‘cos we’ve got a few months left until the holidays so doing it now it just, well, weird. Thanks, Pettigrew.”

She took the book and put it under her arm. She turned around just as she was about to step away and grinned at him. Her face was open and teasing, “by the way, I’m Lily Evans. Nice to meet you.”

Haha. Shit.

“Peter,” he said, even though she already knew.

She didn’t say anything more for a bit. “Aren’t you gonna ask what my soulmark is?”

“No?”

“Oh, good. Sorry, it’s just that here everyone does it. Back at home we had to ask after it, and here, wizards say it as soon as they introduce their names! It’s really odd,” she explained, and looked around briefly before sitting on a chair nearby. She turned to him and shrugged, “I’ll get this back to you by tomorrow.”

“You’re a muggleborn?” He already knew that, but it’d be awkward to blatantly ignore her after she’d so excitedly started chatting with him. He felt like a pineapple next to a puppy; where he was saying the bare minimum while she chatted her head off. It felt rude of him. And sure, Peter was usually rude, but something in his stomach was jabbing him and urging him to talk more.

So he listened to his instinct, and tried to be more open in response to her.

Lily grinned. “Yeah!”

“Ah, me too,” Peter volunteered the information wearily. He knew Lily wouldn’t judge him for it, but people in the wizarding world weren’t always accepting, so if people were to overhear then it would be risky business all around. Gryffindor common room or not.

“Really?” She squealed, “practically no one is! Oh, I was so surprised when I got my letter! An owl, you know? Mum screamed when it flew through the window, it was great. Professor McGonagall was the one to explain everything. Who did you have?”

Peter blinked. “Flitwick.”

“Yeah? What’d your parents do? Did you see his mark?”

Flitwick had a dragonfly that flew around his head.

“He was pissed,” Peter laughed fakely. “Threw a fit, Flitwick must’ve had the shock of his life. Yeah, I saw his mark, it’s pretty cool.”

“A fit?” Lily asked, eyes wide. “What’d he do?”

The fact that she didn’t ask after his mum gave her points.

And.

Peter, well, he started to like Lily. She was open and nice without being overbearing like James. He also knew enough from the books that she didn’t take shit, which was always a good quality to have.

Hopefully that quality wouldn’t backfire on him.

He wanted to befriend her. Maybe when she got along with James, then he’d stop. But until then, she seemed alright. It’d make his life more interesting if nothing else.

(And he was lonely. It wasn’t nice, it wasn’t, it _wasn’t_ , and she was so nice and happy and couldn’t he just be selfish for once in his life?)

“My dad or Flitwick?”

“Your dad.”

“Threw a chair. Swore a lot, it was great.”

“He did what?” Lily gasped, and paid him her full attention. “Really?”

“Yeah he —“ Peter froze, and remembered that that wasn’t normal. “Was really surprised. Flitwick nearly had to restrain him.”

That was a lie.

Flitwick _had_ restrained him. He’d gotten a stern talking to, and on the way out the door, Flitwick had pulled Peter aside and asked if everything was alright. Peter had said that it was.

( _What if they put him in an orphanage? He didn’t need that. He had everything in that house, and it wasn’t as if his dad ever hit him or abused him beyond verbally. He was fine._ )

( _He didn’t want to leave the house, with mum’s charms hanging from some dusty points in the ceiling, and the painted walls his mum had done once upon a time that dad never covered up._ )

So when Flitwick had pulled him aside, Peter had smiled and lied and assured him that everything was alright. Peter lied a lot.

Lily laughed, clearly not thinking that his dad’s actions had been out of violence. “That’s incredible, your dad must be quite the character! My parents were pretty groovy about the whole thing.”

“Didn’t you say your mum screamed?”

“Once!” She insisted. “It was my sister who —“ she trailed off. “They accepted it easily. I was doing weird things for ages.”

“Like what?”

Lily had gotten comfortable on her chair, and had edged it closer at some point. She cradled the book while she talked, and lit up the room with her grin. She had looked unsettled when she had initially approached him. All of that had faded.

“Made flowers bloom. I could sort of drift off swings, and make grass grow taller. Made my teacher’s wig go purple. It was good she didn’t catch me, I wouldn’t be able to explain that if I tried! In all honesty, I already knew I was a witch. Sev told me.”

“Sev?”

“Severus Snape! He’s in Slytherin, and he might seem sort of mean on the surface but he’s actually really nice. He’s been my best friend since I was eight.”

Oh, he forgot that Snape was someone that existed.

He wondered whether the addition of soulmarks to the world had changed Snape’s personality significantly. Peter hadn’t been a fan of his original personality.

“And,” Lily continued, “he told me all about the wizarding world. We live nearby so we’ve always been able to visit each other all the time.”

“He seems nice.” Hopefully he wasn’t completely hung up on Lily. And if he was, hopefully it wasn’t too evident.

“He is,” she gushed. “He’s so nice and helpful and great and, well, awesome. Hey, once the library is up and running, you want to study with us? It’ll be fun, I swear!”

Peter bit his lip. He looked at Lily, with her fire engine red hair, shining green eyes and massive grin.

She didn’t seem like a mean person. She would be alright to befriend.

Wouldn’t she?

She wasn’t James, who once befriended wouldn’t leave until his dying day. She wasn’t Sirius, who was too brash and loud and reckless. She also wasn’t Remus, someone who would surely figure out everything about him in less than a year.

( _He didn’t need his roommates. Any of them. He knew their type; once he joined, Peter_ knew _he’d never be able to leave, no matter how much he urged himself otherwise._ )

And that’d be his downfall.

(Maybe they’d try to reel him in with talks of ‘friendship’ and ‘trust.’ Peter knew better than to accept that, but he _would_ , because he was _Peter_ ; fickle and deep, deep down, childish and searching for acceptance. He knew, he knew, he _knew_ that no matter how much he were to hypothetically share about himself; about Her, about Harry Potter, about his mum and his dad — no matter how much they told him in return to have faith in them, it would all be for nothing.)

(The universe didn’t work that way. It wouldn’t cut him a break, he knew better. He knew better.)

_He knew better._

The universe, once he shared everything on his mind, once they told him they _trusted_ him and wanted to be his friend anyway because _surely_ if Peter knew all about that, then _surely_ he wouldn’t repeat those mistakes and... and, and _and_. And, then they’d accept him and Peter would accept them in return, and then the universe would get angry or something.

Right?

It’d get, it’d get _angry_ and create a _new_ prophecy and make things harder and harder and _harder_ and _harder_ and twist things so much, that Peter wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of anything.

But Peter knew better! Peter knew that if he just kept things as linear as possible, kept things as they were supposed to be — soulmates and soulmarks added to the equation or not — than things would go better. He’d do his best to preserve things, he’d do everything the same except befriend the three boys back up in his dorm.

Because once he befriended them. Well, he knew what would happen then.

Peter would change the world for his own sake, because he was selfish and cruel. Because he was fucked up in the head, like his dad told him. Because he was mindless and sociopathic and guess what! He didn’t fucking care! 

(But Lily — Lily was, _Lily was_ —)

Lily was quick to anger, straightforward and smart. If Peter said something bad to her in an effort to make her leave him, for her own good, then she would leave.

She was good.

Quick to throw away. And that was what he thought of her; he thought her a tool, because Peter was flawed more than he was decent. Because he was fucked up. Because he was evil. Bad. And Lily was someone he could discard simply and easily whenever he wanted to.

And he _would_ throw her away. Because that was just who he was; selfish.

“I’d love to sit with you sometime,” Peter replied.

He wouldn’t mind befriending Snape either. So what if Snape was a jerkward? It wasn’t like Peter was a saint. And Snape was just like Lily; quick to anger, quick to leave.

( _And Lily smiled, and Peter smiled back._ )

And Peter was...

_Tired_ of being labelled a villain all the time. Tired of being labelled silent and mean; by himself and others. If that was what he was labelled, then fine.

That was who he was going to be.

..

If he befriended Snape and Lily, he’d be a little less lonely, too.

Who knew? Maybe they’d actually become close.

..

There were two more months until first year would end, and Peter’s roommates had all snuck out. He was impressed. That it had taken them that long. Or taken that long for Peter to notice.

As soon as the whispers went out the door, Peter sprung open the curtains and walked to the centre of the room where he inhaled and exhaled.

Alone.

It was good to be alone sometimes. He took the time to lazily spin in a circle, and listened to the wind bat against the window. It was night, which was obvious in the lull of noise and the quiet occasional clicks of the clock over the door that he could actually hear.

It wasn’t like the clock stopped during the day, but there were so many distractions that it almost seemed that way.

Over James’ bed were pictures of Quidditch teams and his friends. Over Sirius’ were pictures of wizarding bands, and Peter suspected that in the future they would be joined by images of muggle bands and motorbikes. Remus’ bed area was kept blank other than a few personal touches, like the blanket from his home over his bed and the books by his bedside.

Peter’s bed area was slightly more clustered. There were stickers on his lampshade that showed animals and plants, pictures of Lily and Snape were beside his bed on the wall — they had ended up becoming friends, and he was proud of them, he’d be even more proud if Snape wasn’t such an asshole — and at the corner of his bed hung a beaded charm. It wasn’t one that his mum had made, he had made it himself in an attempt to imitate her and get close to her memory.

If someone sat on his bed and extended the curtains, they’d see the frogs that were jumping around in the pictures stuck to it. There were also frogs that had been hand painted on, jumping around, sporting bonnets and other such knick-knacks, but they were significantly more blotchy and ugly. Peter hadn’t charmed them off because he didn’t know how to.

The entire room was covered in rubbish. Empty chocolate frog packets, discarded parchment and quills, old prophet papers and trunks open that were spilling their contents onto the floor.

Someone had decided to not clean the room but cleared a path to each of the four beds, which also lead to the bathroom and the front dorm door. Peter suspected Remus, because Peter’s bed had a path too, which the others wouldn’t have done.

Well, maybe, you never know.

Either way, it was a bit wide and had objects shoved to the side on either end. It resembled the room of lost things. When Peter had first seen it, he had immediately turned around once he walked into the room, closed the door from outside, and covered his mouth to hide the hysterical laughter he burst into. A passing sixth year gave him an odd look.

He didn’t know why he found it so funny.

When he had walked in again, he had given a nod to the room and acted like nothing had happened.

That was one of the good memories of first year.

Peter walked along the cleared path and felt his entire body relax. The air entered his lungs and slowly exited. And just like that, everything become a little bit better. His entire life had been so confusing, every decision he made had a high chance of being a mistake, and it was like the world was dogging his footsteps and waiting to persecute every little decision.

To just relax in an empty room was a luxury.

Everything was... okay. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good, but it was okay. Everything was going alright, it could have been much worse. Someone could have saw his soulmark, someone could have sent him a curse in the hallway — but they hadn’t.

The worst things had happened at the start of the year, and they were hardly world-breaking. Another bad thing was Lily asking about his soulmark after a month of friendship, but she hadn’t pressed when he had said his was dead, and that was a sign that she was awesome in his books.

Peter wasn’t even sure that that was a bad memory.

Lily’s mark was... the same as James’ to no surprise to him. He didn’t tell her that, because he wanted to have a year of peace without James pestering Lily — as the books foretold — and he knew they’d figure it out themselves eventually, which would be the best for them. When she had shown him, it was on her lower thigh and she had spent the afternoon raving about how gross she found him.

For his own sanity, he would delay thinking about Snape’s soulmate mark.

Personally Peter thought that Lily was more upset that her soulmate didn’t resemble a fairy tale prince, or maybe it was because her thigh sometimes had boobs on it. Verbally he had said something more along the lines of, “he thought about that? Really? Wow.”

In her defence, if it was him in her shoes he’d react the same way. What kind of eleven year old thought of boobs all the time? Probably a few, actually, he wasn’t an expert in human behaviour.

Lily had all her eggs in one basket though. Just because your soulmate thought of boobs all the time didn’t mean that they were a bad person; being interested in certain body parts was natural. It could have also meant that someone was whispering the word “boobs” into their ear all the time, you never really knew.

Peter distantly wondered if James had boobs appear on his arm whenever Lily ranted about it. He did have them that one time a few months back, right?

The year so far had been calm. It was good. His roommates were relatively respectful of his personal space, and the height of intruding on it had been Peter catching them — twice! — putting hair dye in his shampoo bottles.

Sirius seemed to relax around him more, maybe he caught on to the fact that just because Peter wasn’t the grade A example for friendly didn’t mean he was waiting to set Sirius’ bed on fire while he was sleeping. Peter suspected he made his dog soulmark keep watch for him.

Not that it popped out of his skin, like that jellyfish he remembered from his childhood, but it sure did glare a lot when Peter was nearby.

He looked around and spun one last time. A big goofy grin spread across his face.

Life was okay, and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who commented on my last chapter! As I mentioned, I was in the middle of my exams when I posted that, so to find a big amount of positive comments really helped me out (-:
> 
> Also; constructive criticism is appreciated too!
> 
> Special thanks to @YouMakeTheSunSmile for spotting a few mistakes in ch 1, 2, and throughout the fic up to ch 6


	3. The Other Pettigrew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter compares himself to the other Peter; they’re more similar than he would like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’s everyone handling the pandemic? Hope you’re doing well
> 
> You guys really read the word ‘boobs’ five or so times last chapter and didn’t even question it.

  
Sometimes he still saw the sunflowers when he walked up the front driveway. They weren’t there, they couldn’t possibly be, but he saw them all the same. He wondered what they’d have looked like if they hadn’t been uprooted and destroyed all those years ago. Would there be more, would they be bigger? Would they have all died?

“You best not be doing any magic, got it?” Dad told him as they walked up to the door.

“I’m not allowed to,” Peter reminded him. “It’s against the law.”

Dad frowned. “I know that, idiot. But laws get broken, and I don’t want ya being sneaky. Just because you can do it doesn’t mean you’re fucking better than the rest of us _normal_ people.”

“I know.”

Dad didn’t grace him with a reply, and disappeared off to his room to fume about his living situation or whatever else he did in his free time. Peter went to the fridge and frowned at the state of the food.

He missed Hogwarts already.

..

Last Christmas James had given him stickers, which he had crammed into his trunk. Peter stuck them on his walls that Summer, and watched the tiny frogs jump around.

..

Remus wished his parents would stop looking at him like he’d bust out into a werewolf and annihilate the household. The only thing that kept him from telling them off most days was the fact that he knew they loved him, and they didn’t mean to do it.

His time at Hogwarts was good. Fantastic, even. 

So to come home and immediately face his parents was... bad. Terrible.

It was because they knew about him that they treated him so delicately. As long as his friends didn’t find out about him, the real him; his furry friend — then he’d be okay.

_He’d be okay._ He had to be.

Sirius and James were a gift from whatever higher deity existed. They encouraged him to let loose. They had left the train waving to each other and promising to send owls and exchange letters, and Remus was excited for it, even if he knew that the majority of James’ letters would contain updates on Quidditch. Or his soulmate. 

“We got you something, hon.” Mum said nervously, and sent him a fleeting smile. Remus awkwardly smiled back.

It seemed that in his absence their dynamic had gotten even worse.

He went up to his room, where he found a hand knitted scarf with a lion knitted into it. He yelled out his thanks and draped it around his neck, and finally let himself relax against the frame of his bed.

  
  
At least his bed was comfortable.

..

Peter shovelled dirt into a pot and broke up the roots of flowers, which he put in the plant pot and then covered up with more dirt. 

He took up gardening as a hobby, but never could bring himself to buy sunflowers. For symbolism reasons or something, he wasn’t really sure. His dad hated how he had chosen gardening, and brought it up from time to time to mock him, but as long as his dad never physically stopped him, Peter was going to continue.

He looked up and wiped sweat from his forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, a small purple hole seemed to grow into the atmosphere. He whipped his head around and stumbled back. The hole was wide and two-dimensional.

_Crack_.

Peter gasped and stumbled back, and the hole closed with another audible crack. Gone.

As if it was never there in the first place.

Well. Fuck, okay.

He didn’t do that. He knew that he didn’t do that.

What the fuck was it? He spent the afternoon wondering about it, thinking of it as a portal or a black hole — it couldn’t possibly be a black hole, black holes caused a hell of a lot of destruction and that hole didn’t do more than crackle and shift — perhaps it was a magical prank. 

Accidental magic? But he wasn’t that upset?

Peter looked at where it had appeared, and wandered around the spot, but couldn’t see anything amiss.

Maybe he was imagining things. Great, he was going crazy. Being reborn in a fictional universe couldn’t be enough, could it? The world had to rub it in and give him hallucinations!

Accidental magic. That was it. He wiped more sweat from his brow.

Random magical floating disc in his backyard. That was it.

Peter continued on with the day, and by the time he was making dinner, he had forgotten all about it.

..

“Get out,” dad said from the front seat.

Peter jumped up, startled. “Right. I said I’d meet my friends on the train so, uh — that’s cool.”

“Did I fucking ask?”

“No,” Peter muttered, and opened the door. He went around to the back, “just thought that maybe you’d care about it or something. Maybe you’d care that I had friends, you know. But I was wrong, good to know.” He laid it on thick and rolled his eyes.

His dad rolled down his window.

“You really think you have friends there, Peter? Hah, they’ll find out about the real you soon enough.”

What the fuck was that meant to mean, ‘real you.’ What was this? A drama?

Instead of gracing him with a signature fake smile, Peter pulled his second hand trunk upright and sent his dad a last scathing glare. “See, this is why you can’t find a girlfriend,” he said.

Peter ran for it.

..

Peter collapsed next to Lily on the train.

“Long break?” She said weakly.

Peter nodded and met her tired expression with his own. He didn’t answer. “Long break?” He countered instead.

“Long break.” Lily confirmed.

Lily started to talk about how her sister had been insufferable, and just as it was getting heated, the door opened and Snape walked in. He made a beeline to Lily and sat down. They said hello, and Lily immediately continued to rant about Petunia. Snape nodded every now and then to keep her talking.

“And when I saw Sev, she was so... ugh! I love her, you know, but she’s so _mean_ sometimes.”

“It’s because she’s a muggle, she doesn’t understand,” Snape said solemnly.

“But she so over the top! You should have seen her on the way here Sev, she didn’t even look at me. It was like someone died!”

“Maybe she’s too scared to admit she’ll miss you?” Peter suggested.

Both of them sent him a blank look.

They turned back to face each other.

Peter snorted and reached into his bag for puzzle rings he’d bought at a shop over the holidays.

He tugged a ring in one direction and felt it hit a curve. It was nice in the compartment, on the first ride to Hogwarts he had been alone, so to be with two people who liked him — one somewhat tolerated him but that wasn’t the _point_ — was good.

..

Peter walked to the carriages with Lily.

Snape stalked slightly behind them, and Peter fidgeted with the puzzle rings, jostling them with reckless abandon while Lily watched in thinly veiled amusement.

They chose a carriage and jumped in.

“I’m so excited,” Lily gushed, talking about the new teacher. “I didn’t really like the old one, you know, Professor Mylene was way too familiar, and I was pretty uncomfortable. But Professor Beaucannan! Did you know she’s released several books? I read one of them, but it was pretty complicated so I didn’t finish it. But what I did read was good.”

“If she was boring in her book, then what says she won’t be boring as a professor?” Snape drawled.

“Dumbledore would only choose good professors!”

“He chose _Professor Mylene._ ”

The door opened sharply, and three boys jumped in just as it started moving. Sirius grinned at them.

“Oh, hey guys. Sorry for this,” James apologised. “We were a bit behind so we got on the first one we saw.” He scooted onto one of the seats next to Lily. He could have sat next to Peter, but had avidly chosen not to, Peter couldn’t blame him. He still kept that rock from first year in his trunk.

“We see that,” Snape snipped.

Sirius sat next to Snape and spread his legs to make himself comfortable. Remus sat next to Peter at a slight distance.

“No need to be so rude about it,” Sirius said to him. He stretched his legs so that they rested on Remus’ knees. Remus solemnly started to undo his shoelaces, much to Sirius’ annoyance, but he didn’t put them back down.

“Yes, that’s us. The rude ones,” Lily loyally defended her friend. “Who’re you, anyway?”

“Your awesome local second year Gryffindors,” Sirius announced. “I’ve seen you guys around, I think. Hey Peter.”

Peter stared at him. He stopped fidgeting with the rings.

“As friendly as ever,” Sirius grinned mockingly. “I’m Sirius Black, at your service madam. Got a dog on my ass.”

Sometimes the tradition of immediately introducing oneself and then following it up with information on their soulmark became a bit crude — or maybe that was just Sirius.

Snape froze and looked up. His mouth curled in disgust.

Lily, too, scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Lily Evans. Pleasure.” The way she said pleasure made clear that it was definitely not a pleasure.

“James Potter, I’ve got a bubble on my arm,” James grinned. He was being completely genuine, and didn’t seem to sense the stale mood from the carriage. “Nice to meet you! This is Remus Lupin. He has a flower.”

Those were incredibly simple explanations compared to their usual tangents, Peter noticed, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he looked out the window and pretended he wasn’t listening.

Remus raised an eyebrow at James, as if saying that he ‘could introduce himself, thank you very much.’ “Why’d you say it like that?”

James grinned.

Sirius mouthed the word ‘boobs’ to him, and James immediately got off his high horse and flipped him the bird.

“Severus Snape,” Snape spat out.

“Bless you,” Remus said.

“Did your parents hate you or something?” Sirius.

And lastly, James tilted his head and said slowly, “Snivellus?”

Snape’s jaw tightened.

If Peter had been in the Great Hall, he would have been shoving breadsticks in his bag by that point in preparation to dash off.

“Hey!” Lily hissed, “that’s no way to talk to someone!”

James seemed to sense the mood at that point, and his face hardened slightly. He looked down his nose at her and Snape, ignoring Peter completely.

“As if we care about a Slytherin,” James snorted. “Don’t think we didn’t notice.”

Ah, maybe that was why he had been so vague when describing his soulmark earlier. Maybe he wasn’t as genuinely friendly as he appeared. Peter, impressed, gave a particularly hard tug on one of his puzzle rings.   
  


He noticed a skeletal horse snort and trot past. He smiled bitterly. 

(He always had to get reminded of his mum, didn’t he?)

Sirius grinned and leaned across Snape and Lily, to punch Snape playfully on the shoulder. “Slimy, slimy Slytherin,” he said solemnly on the way back to his relaxed position.

Snape, aghast, brushed off his shoulder as if a handful of dirt had been thrown there. “You weren’t too far from being here yourself, Black.” He growled.

Snape’s smile fell slightly. “But I wasn’t, because I’m not going to end up as a death eater.”

  
He watched a blade of grass get trodden on outside.

“Heard your brother’s being sorted this year,” Snape shot at him.

“Oh yeah? Well guess what, he’s going to be a _Gryffindor,_ just like me.”

“Bet your parents would love that!”

“Shut up.”

“He’s going to be a Slytherin. You’re always going to be the Black sheep.”

Lily looked a little bit confused, but loyally kept up her glare on Sirius and James. She didn’t appear too bothered by Remus, so Peter assumed she must have talked to Remus before.

Sirius looked angrier. “Shut up!”

Peter exchanged a look with Lily.

“Guys, stop.” Lily insisted. “It’s gone too far.”

“You know what your cousins said when you got sorted into Gryffindor? I know all about how your family is, Black, and no doubt they beat it into you when you went home for the Summer. What was it like, knowing you’d never measure up to the better blood?”

  
Better blood.

_Better blood._

(And then something that would start a fabled rivalry occurred.)

_James punched Snape in the face._

“Why don't you go fuck yourself, Snivellus?” James yelled as Snape fell harshly to lean on Lily, Snape cradled his face. Blood dripped down his lip.

“It’sh true, ishn’t it?” He spat out while groaning in pain.

Lily looked a little bit concerned by Snape’s statement, but was more angry at James then anything. “How dare you!” She growled, “how dare you. I’m telling the professors as soon as we get to the castle! Who do you think you are?”   
  


Peter looked down at Snape and felt something in his mind click. Lily held him close, too hung up on the idea of a close childhood friend to realise _exactly_ what he had just said. Exactly what he had just _implied_. Peter knew better.

Peter wasn’t Lily, and he knew better.

“I think I’m someone who defends his friends! ‘ _Better blood._ ’ He’s a racist!”

Sirius looked gobsmacked, his mouth was slightly ajar and his eyes flickered back and forth between the angry faces in the carriage. His fists were clenched.

Peter was slightly impressed that James managed to break Snapes nose. He doubted it was too hard, because Snape had a honker, but it was still bleeding everywhere like mad. He didn’t feel bad for Snape. He deserved it.

Snape coughed, and blood sprayed out of his mouth and around the compartment.

Peter winced sympathetically. He grabbed his wand and was about to do a half-hearted attempt to fix it, when Remus’ wand did a healing charm before Peter could even open his mouth.

Lily sent Remus a quick look of thanks, and reached into her bag to get a small first aid kit. Peter wondered why she carried it around. It was blue with a big red button that helped to fasten it.

He looked into the contents as she opened it and saw a _CPR_ _breathing mask._

Why the _hell_?

Lily searched around the bag and drew out a few wipes.

“Thanks,” Snape coughed out. He took the wipes and cleaned himself off. His eyes glared at James and Sirius.

“You always carry around a fully packed first aid kit?” Peter asked Lily with wide eyes. Lily shot him a look.

“I’m training to be a mediwitch, of course I do,” she whispered to him fiercely.

“You think you’re hot shit, don’t you Potter?” Snape hissed in the background while to the side, Peter looked through the small bag with awe. 

“Shut up, Snivellus.”

Lily had eighteen different types of bandaids. Some had small snitches, a few had snakes — Peter would bet a lot of money that she bought them after Snape got sorted into Slytherin — and a couple of other designs were scattered throughout the pack.

He noticed blood on his hands. Ah.

Peter looked down at his uniform. Great, there was blood on it too. Must have been from Snape’s cough earlier. He was semi-impressed at the blood spray, it even managed to hit the wall behind him and Remus. He got out his wand and performed a few quick cleaning charms, and people sent him thankful looks. When he cleaned off James and Sirius, they looked more confused than anything.

Peter rolled his eyes and subtly turned their socks neon shades of orange and blue.

The carriage stopped, and Sirius jumped up as if his robes were on fire and gave one last glare at Snape and Lily. James flipped Snape off, and followed after.

“Sorry,” Remus muttered on the way out. The three boys rushed off. The door closed behind Remus and Lily stood up.

“Well,” she said to them. “This years going to be interesting if nothing else. Bloody toerags. Now, where’s Professor McGonagall?”

Peter was just sad that he couldn’t finish his ring puzzle.

..

When Peter had first met Snape, he had been guessing his soulmark to himself in his head. Was it a cross, a red spot that looked like a bloodstain, an image of Lily’s corpse, a ring or a deer?

It was a fucking black dog.

That had nearly put Peter into cardiac arrest.

“Can’t believe it,” Snape hissed the next day. They were all on a big blanket outside, enjoying the weather before it would inevitably get colder. Classes would start the next day. “ _He’s_ my soulmate? _Black_?”

Peter really wanted popcorn. And a long detailed paragraph explaining everything, because seriously, what the fuck? He’d known their connection since first year when Snape had first introduced himself, but to that day he hadn’t the slightest clue as to why the universe had decided to pair up Snape and Sirius.

“ _Toerag_ ,” Lily said. “What a disgusting person. Can’t believe it either, you poor thing. But that _does_ mean that he has to get nicer eventually, right? Soulmates are meant to be.”

Peter decided to intervene. “No they’re not,” he said. 

Both turned to look at him, interested. Peter complied. “Your soulmate is never _guaranteed_ to be a good person. Sometimes you get left with the bad stuff, the remains of society. The dregs. Just because he’s yours doesn’t mean you have to have him.”

“You’re right.” Snape declared after he had stared at Peter in careful scrutiny for a solid minute. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“I’m sorry for your luck, Sev. I don’t know what I’d do if it turned out my soulmate was someone like Black or Potter.”

_Ha_.

“I won’t tell him,” Snape frowned at the castle. “I don’t want him to bother me about it.”

“It’s your decision,” Lily comforted him. “And hey, some people get together with people who aren’t their soulmate or soulmates. You deserve happiness as much as anyone else!”

“Now I have to see his brother all the time too,” he spat.

Peter shrugged. “Hey, it means you won the bet from the carriage.”

Lily sent him a look. “Shut up Peter. It’s fine Sev, just avoid Regulus. It’s your right, and Slytherin is crowded anyway so I doubt he’ll even notice. Even if he does, he’s a first year, so you’ll be fine. And you can avoid Sirius too if you want. You don’t have to pursue him. Maybe one day he’ll mature and apologise for being such a toerag!”

“Hm,” Snape agreed absent-mindedly.

Peter really had expected Snape’s soulmate to be Lily’s corpse. But for some reason, no. 

When he had been told about Snape’s mark, Peter thought it’d take Sirius and Snape at least until sixth year to figure it out.

But there was one good outcome. _Snape wasn’t going after Lily_. The soulmark thing really messed up the Harry Potter universe, and Peter was left watching everything crumble up while he carefully dodged the responsibility to pick up the pieces.

Everything was going ass over tits, and from the moment he had gained self awareness — a mistake, surely — he had known it would do so. Peter watched Lily comfort Snape, and for the second time wished for popcorn.

“Aren’t you saying anything, Peter?” Lily asked him with a very tired expression.

“He’s fine,” Peter said. “Look, he’s got it sorted.”

“Peter.”

“What? He’s fine, he’s said so himself.”

Lily frowned and turned to face him.

“You know, in the carriage, something bothered me. You didn’t stand up for Snape or me at all, you didn’t do anything.”

“Neither did Remus,” Peter raised an eyebrow. “You had it sorted.”

“Remus knew we were in the right!” Lily argued. “You actually helped them, you cleaned them, I thought you didn’t get along with them?”

“They’re still my roommates. The day I stand up to them is the day my socks collectively go missing and get found rotting in the owlery. It’s self preservation.”

“Yeah?” Lily looked really angry, and Peter found himself leaning back. “Well your self preservation is really hurting us! You should have helped!”

  
They weren’t even talking about Snape’s soulmate situation anymore. Lily had apparently been bothered about Peter’s silence a lot more than he had suspected — it hadn’t even occurred to Peter that it might possibly be seen as a problem.

“Oh?” He started to feel angry too. “Say I hexed them. I’d deal with the blunt of their attacks for weeks, hell, years. Am I supposed to apologise for self preservation, huh? Good for you, really. Good for you that I’d have helped you. That would have been one shot in exchange for a thousand at me. I’m so, so sorry for that,” he said sarcastically. His eyes flickered to the castle and then back.

“I thought we were friends.” Lily’s voice broke. “Potter punched Sev for Black. Even if he did get told off for it by the professor later.”

“That’s because we’re in different houses and they don’t have to _live with each other_.”

“We were still in the right!”

Peter‘s face twisted. “Who’s to say we were in the right?” He proposed eventually. “Oh sure, Potter punched Severus, but Severus was saying some pretty bad things about blood and Black’s personal situation. They were right, you know, Severus _did_ say a racist thing back there.”

Lily swallowed, looking a bit unsure. She powered on anyway. “You should never react with violence! We’re your friends.”

“You wanted me to hex them!”

Snape intervened, “they were the ones who were rude first.”

Peter didn’t get why he felt so horrible, it wasn’t like he should have expected Snape to stand up for him. But even so, bitter resentment clawed up his spine.

“‘ _Better blood_.’” Peter said, “you were talking about better blood. Like what, we’re not as good as purebloods because we were born to muggles? I thought only bloodpurists referenced that kind of ideology.”

“Shut up, you know I didn’t mean it like that!”

Peter stood up and picked up the books he had brought outside with him. “Then what did you mean? Oh, sure.” He muttered. “Nothing racist. Not at all. Not pure, noble Severus. He would never.”

“Don’t turn it on him,” Lily cried. “I’m upset that you didn’t defend us, that was the topic! You’re supposed to do anything for your friends. Do we not mean that much to you?”

“You guys don’t know anything.” Peter felt his head crying at him to stop talking.

(Stop talking, _stop talking._ )

“What, and you do?” Snape snipped, “sir knows-all?“

“Compared to you, yes.” He looked down at them, and turned up his nose. “I don’t know why I ever befriended you. The both of you are just _children_.”

( _He saw Lily’s face turn into a hurt expression, and Snape’s turn dark and untrusting_.)

  
Another puzzle piece joined the rest, and a flimsy acknowledgement filled Peter’s face. He should never had tried to befriend them.

He ran off before they could decide to shoot a hex at him.

..

Racist. Stubborn. _Stupid._

..

_Children_.

They were all _children_. It wasn’t like he was much older than them, he had died young after all, but they were children nonetheless. So what if he was ‘ _selfish_ ’ and didn’t defend them? Oh _no_ , he didn’t defend Snape after he spat out a _racist phrase_. 

They got through it, didn’t they? Limited injuries and all! And they were saying that he was a bad person for it?

That sort of thinking was what made them children. They were _selfish_ too.

Peter opened the dorm door harshly, and ignored the odd looks aimed towards him. He made a beeline to his bed, where he face planted and dropped his books to bounce off the bed.

Fuck _everything_.

“Ah, something happen?” James asked awkwardly. It didn’t seem like he really wanted an answer, and was just asking to be polite.

Peter answered anyway because nothing mattered in life and he was going to die alone and his soulmate was dead and they would all die and honestly what was the point even?

“Training for the face-planting preliminaries,” Peter answered, his voice muffled in the covers. He got a startled laugh out of that. He then continued to talk, and that action was quickly aborted. “Now fuck off before I throw a rock at you or something.”

“Hey!”

Peter groaned and rolled over. More books fell off his bed, and he watched the top of his bed in silence for a few seconds before he rolled onto his feet. “Yeah, fuck this. Going to the kitchen to stuff myself and cry into lasagna. _Peace_.”

That prompted a lot of noise, and Peter looked up through foggy eyes to see two boys crowded around him. He stepped back hurriedly.

“The kitchen?” Sirius asked, his eyes wide.

“We’ve been looking for that forever!” James whispered.

“Tell us where it is!” Sirius begged,

Peter ignored them and picked up a bag near his bed and threw it over his shoulder. It had a few books in it for classes after lunch.

“Ain’t a chance in hell. I repeat; _peace_. See ya, don’t follow me. If you hear crying, it’s not me, it’s my niece, Greta Grettigrew.”

“He has a niece?” James asked Sirius in a whisper.

“No, dumbass!”

..

Surely enough, Peter found himself dry-faced in the kitchens an hour later surrounded by a plethora of house-elve, while he gave them a sob story he had thought of on the spot about five minutes before he walked in.

Like hell he was _actually_ going to cry. His dad would’ve torn him to shreds had he actually been caught doing so, and sure they were a long way away from each other, but Peter wasn’t risking shit.

“Yeah, my boyfriend broke up with me,” he told one house-elf. “Said I did too much weed.”

  
Snape was a racist, Lily thought Peter was selfish and didn’t care about them, and his life was going to shit.

The house-elf gasped. “Misters Pettigrew is doing weed? Misters Pettigrew should refrain from such behaviour!”

Merlin, he hated himself. He took a big gulp of water.

“Didn’t support my dreams of opening a pot farm. Said it was illegal and barbaric. Don’t see the barbaric side of it, to be honest. It’s not like it’s a meth lab.”

When things went to shit, he did the number one relaxing activity; fucking with people.

One of the house-elves whimpered.

“God you should have seen the face of my other boyfriend,” Peter rambled on. “He was all like, ‘Peter, you can’t do that! And I saw your plans, you _are_ planning to open a meth lab! Don’t lie.’ And my first boyfriend was like, ‘since when the hell did you have another boyfriend?’ And that’s when we all started _fighting_.”

Wow, he was sooo funny. Everything was just turning up Peter! He ate a spoonful of lasagna and stared at the table.

(“You really think you have friends there, Peter? Hah, they’ll find out about the real you soon enough.”)

Dad was right. Fuck dad.

Yeah, fuck his dad! Damn him to hell. He ate another spoonful and ignored the tittering of the house-elves around him.

Peter might’ve been normal if he had a normal dad, but nope! He’d ended up with that asshole, misogynistic, racist, elitist, other complicated but true words — piece of shit. He bet if the internet was a bigger thing his dad would be an internet troll, the sort that raged about politics on a twitter account.

Fuck dad. He ate another spoonful.

“Youse being okay, Misters Pettigrew?”

“Don’t worry, those aren’t tears. It’s sweat.”

“From the eyeballs, Misters?”

“People have always said I was a talented individual. Might have been sarcasm a few times, but it’s always rang true.” He rubbed his eyes.

..

Remus tilted his head slightly under the invisibility cloak to watch Peter wipe a tear — definitely a tear, there was no way that was sweat — out of his eye. Beside him, James and Sirius watched him with odd expressions, a mix of emotions across their faces that Remus wouldn’t be able to decrypt for the life of him.

As soon as Peter had left, all three had practically lunged for the invisibility cloak. Personally, Remus had expected a lot of celebrating when they eventually found the kitchen. 

This was just sad.

“Misters Pettigrew should like another glass of water?”

“Misters Pettigrew wants a pet frog, actually, but thank you.”

Remus was confused, mostly.

“We’s is not having any frogs.”

Peter solemnly shook his head. “The inhumanity. Man, if I had a mum, she’d beat your mum’s ass. Oh shoot no stop _crying I’m joking no it’s okay_ — ah here, come here, you like hugs? I’ll give you a hug.”

Sirius’ hand was over his mouth to stop himself from snickering. James wacked the back of his head.

Remus had never really thought much of Peter. He’d always seemed standoffish, rude and held himself in high esteem. When James had tried to befriend him, Remus hadn’t been on board because Peter was _sort of_ an asshole. But sometimes Remus would look over and Peter’s face looked very _old_ and very _young_ at the same time, and he couldn’t help but feel bad for him. So, pity. Curiosity, too.

Maybe it was out of some misplaced sense of _guilt_ he’d given him a water gun as a Christmas present in first year. When Peter had smiled down at it, Remus had immediately felt validated and he’d smiled a bit too.

Maybe that was what his mum had been searching for when she had given him that scarf last Summer. 

Even so, Remus hadn’t tried to convince James to stop trying to pursue him as a friend after that.

But then one day James stopped, and Sirius explained why.

To put it simply, Remus was _right_. Peter was an asshole.

(And then he’d found chocolate beside his bed that James and Sirius had sworn up and down hadn’t come from them, and Remus got _confused_.)

Remus didn’t try to think about Peter that much after that. He put his time into studying and making pranks, and together the three of them ignored Peter completely, and Peter ignored them. Remus felt bad about it, especially when Peter had _that_ look on his face, but he didn’t put that much effort into changing it.

He’d always thought Peter had a lot of pressure on himself, but he had never seen the boy break down.

And well, there they were. Shut into a kitchen they couldn’t leave without the door making a large shutting noise behind them, watching Peter Pettigrew cry over lasagna while hugging an elf who was also crying. Remus didn’t know what his life had become.

When he had befriended James and Sirius, he had expected things to go a little bit south. But this — yeah, this was _weird_.

He lightly scratched the scar over his nose, and exchanged a look with James.

“What the fuck,” James mouthed at him.

“I don’t know,” he mouthed back.

Sirius was still trying not to laugh.

“Misters Pettigrew is mean, Ditzy thinks.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled.

“Youse isn’t very happy.”

“Speak for yourself Ditzy, you’re currently crying in my elbow.”

“Youse isn’t very funny either.”

Peter looked like he started to cry harder.

Sirius’s hand left his face, and Remus saw that his smile remained, but it wasn’t as joyful as he had thought when he first saw Sirius laughing. It looked bitter. He swayed out of the way of a moving house-elf.

  
_Swoosh_.

Sirius yanked down the cloak, and James’ hands grasped at air for a few seconds. Remus and James stared at him, betrayed.

Sirius looked down his nose and stuffed the cloak into his pocket. “Alright, that’s enough. What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Peter shrieked and scooted back in his chair. Remus stared at Peter.

Peter’s face built a multitude of walls, and he rubbed the tears from his eyes in one fell swoop and politely dropped the elf onto the floor.

“You just came from...” Peter pointed at them, at the general area they were in, then at the door and back. “Ah.” Recognition dawned on him at the sight of the cloak.

“Why’re you acting like that?” Sirius pointed a finger at him.

“Why’re you stalking me?”

“Kitchens. Now what’re you fucking doing?”

“You’re twelve, you shouldn’t be swearing so fucking much.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Quit dodging my questions. _Bastard_.”

Peter’s face seemed to close off even more, and Remus didn’t think that was possible. Remus stood in and blocked Sirius, looking between them as a peacemaker. “I think we should leave him alone for the moment. He’s obviously had a... bad day. We’re sort of in the wrong.”

Remus knew what bad days were like. They didn’t ever take him to the kitchen cradling an elf, but uh — that was alright, right?

“Remus,” Sirius whined. “You always do this! I’m asking _politely_.”

“You’re not asking politely!” Remus stressed the words.   
  


“It’s polite enough.”  
  


“ _Right_.”

Peter ate a spoonful of lasagna.

“Misters shouldn’t be arguing in the kitchen, oh noes.” Ditzy told them off.

“I’ve had a bad day?” Peter asked the house-elf shyly.

“Oh noes, we’s had enough today, yes we’s have. Come back another day. Bye byes, misters.”

They next thing they knew, all four were standing outside the kitchen.

Peter looked back, heartbroken, and ate another spoonful of lasagna. Remus stared at him, bewildered. He didn’t look bothered in the slightest. Sirius had a point, Peter really wasn’t normal. 

“My boyfriends would’ve stood up for me,” Peter said to his lasagna, “always gotta stand up for those close to you. What a joke.” More seriously, he looked up. “Now, what the hell do you want? Thought we were fine ignoring each other? You going to apologise for stalking me?”

Sirius blinked. “You sound like a girl sometimes, you know.”

The atmosphere chilled.

( _All of a sudden it felt like the metal shed at home. Enclosed, sharp. Rusty. And small, small, small. Every moon it got smaller, it seemed like one day it would get so small that it wouldn’t be there any more. Maybe that would be the day he’d get_ free _—)_

Peter _snapped_.

“Oh _yes_ , Peter, what a _girl_. What a _pussy_. _Fuck_ you, fuck all of you. Quit bothering me.” He shoved the lasagna into James’ arms and stormed off.

Remus licked his chapped licks nervously, and frowned at his retreating figure. 

“He got something against girls?” James tried to break the silence once Peter disappeared around the corner. He took the fork Peter was using and ate a bite of lasagna.

It was unsettling how they brushed it off.

How they brushed off the crying. The looks Peter gave them — angry, annoyed. _Scared_.   
  


He didn’t see scared faces a lot. When he did, he saw them at home, from his mum and dad on the day of the moon. But other than that — nothing. Peter didn’t necessarily _seem_ fine, but it was when Peter send that last scared look — at being called a _girl,_ of all things — that it nailed in the fact that Peter really _wasn’t_. 

(When it nailed in that Remus never wanted someone to look at him like that again.)

And if he didn’t want people to look at him like that, then he needed to be more secretive over his problem. His friends sometimes looked suspicious, and it seemed to be getting worse. One day they might even _find out._

“He was in a bad mood,” Sirius hummed to himself. He didn’t answer James’ question.

Remus tried to find a bright side. “At least we found the kitchen?”

James grinned. “Hell yeah we did! Guys, you should try this, it’s pretty good.”

They didn’t talk about Peter for the rest of the day, and didn’t find him in the dorm when they got back.

When they eventually saw Peter again, when he stumbled in late at night with a blood-pop in his mouth, they didn’t say anything and he didn’t say anything to them.

Remus avoided looking at his face.

..

Peter was very embarrassed.

He also wanted to jump out the window. To think he had a breakdown over two... _children_ getting angry at him. He sucked his bloodpop and watched the frogs jump around in his curtains.

_And then_ he was caught crying and stormed off. He was also ninety percent sure he hugged an elf at some point.

That was it, he decided. He wouldn’t ever talk to them again, not because he was _petty_ or anything, but because he was so tired of things going wrong. Nothing ever went wrong with friendships if you _didn’t have any._

He hated to prove his dad right, but he decided on it regardless.

For the rest of the year, he didn’t speak a word to Lily and Snape unless it was in class or required. To the marauders he didn’t talk either, and they didn’t try to approach him in turn.

Everything was fine.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

He was so stupid to not have ignored everyone in the first place.

( —You really _think you have friends_ —)

..

  
  


And the school year passed in a blink.

..

“Everyday you look more like your mother,” dad said quietly one day.

Peter looked up behind his long eyelashes. He was tired. Maybe his dad had sensed that for once in his life and had decided to not be a dick.

“You just lack the hips and the tits.”

Or not. Peter flipped him the bird.

Peter felt bad for women. He also felt bad for himself.

“Right,” Peter drew out. “See you at dinner.”

In his room, he pulled up his shirt and quietly surveyed the faded mark across his torso. 

Why did his soulmate have to die?

Well, it wasn’t like he _wanted_ one, but still; he was reborn here and he didn’t get one? What did he mess up in his last life to warrant that?

(Maybe the universe had realised Peter didn’t want one, and had revoked them. That was fine.)

It was better than getting someone bad. If he got someone like his dad, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He hated everything. He wanted no part in any of it. Couldn’t he be reborn in a better world, where he wasn’t doomed to failure from the very beginning? He wanted somewhere to let loose.

A crack echoed around the room, and Peter spun around to look at the corner where it came from, but there was nothing there.

What the fuck?

Hadn’t that... happened before? Well.

It was gone either way. He continued to stare into the corner and let his shirt drop and his hand slowly moved up to cradle his face. 

Fuck this, honestly.

He’d always hated mystery. If everything wasn’t clear from the very beginning, the point was lost to him, it just wasn’t entertaining. Why would he want it in a book or a movie or anything, yet alone in his life? Didn’t he deserve to know what he was getting into?

..

Peter walked through the shops with a bag around his shoulder and a slight pep to his step. He was finally allowed out alone to shop. It was always odd to him that his dad was protective and didn’t let Peter out far alone. Maybe he thought himself an ‘alpha’ to completely control Peter’s movements — at least, that explanation made sense to Peter.

Or maybe it was because Peter was thirteen and his dad was partially hoping he’d get kidnapped.

Either way, Peter had way too much happiness for someone who just put lettuce into a bag.

He practically skipped along the aisles and chose whatever produce that was on sale, letting the terrible mall music run over him. 

He missed the music from his old life. He’d never be able to recreate it, other than vocally, mostly because he didn’t have the patience or the talent.

He could sing. Not very well, but he could. He could also play the guitar, but years of not touching one would inevitably reflect badly if he ever tried it again.

Thank god they had the Beatles. Peter brushed some hair out of his eyes and considered cutting it. Nah. As long as it didn’t get as long as the original Pettigrew’s, he would be fine. Sometimes he wondered where all those... features, from the other Pettigrew had gone.

While the original Pettigrew must’ve taken after his dad, he couldn’t see the resemblance, he took after his mum. His dad was nearly a mirror image of the book’s description. He was large and greying, while Peter was small and dainty with large blue eyes and naturally curly hair.

(Maybe his dad’s soulmate was a different woman from the original Pettigrew’s mum? That made the most amount of sense.)

Thinking of the original Pettigrew and him was confusing. They kept being mixed up in his mind.

Rat, man. Which was which?

Peter put pasta into his basket.

He didn’t want to try to become an animagus because of that very question. What would it mean if he still turned into a rat? Would that mean he was the same man, doomed to the same fate, doomed to mirroring parallels that would inevitably result in him dying?

He didn’t want to be a rat. Rats were disgusting, he hated them. Some were tolerable, ones that were small and well groomed, but all others were on thin ice and from what Peter could remember, the original Pettigrew had been one fat lump of a rat, disgusting and vile to the bone.

Peter didn’t want that. He wanted a small cottage next to shops he could walk to instead of drive to, a home garden and a pet frog or two. A dog. Maybe a swing. Far away from anyone he knew.

He wanted his own life. Who cared if he shared the same life, the same parents as the original Pettigrew? He was different. He had to be.

(He looked different, didn’t he? Didn’t that mean things had changed? Didn’t that mean that he wouldn’t grow up to spend thirteen years as a rat?)

“Hey, you! You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?”

Peter froze on his feet and slowly looked to his right, where he found a blonde boy around a year younger than him staring with a vacant smile and very twinkly blue eyes. His head was on a slight axis, and his body was exposed and relaxed as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Peter Pettigrew,” he introduced himself wearily. “You shouldn’t be talking about that in muggle public.” Even if the shop was incredibly isolated.

The boy ignored that and seemed to smile wider. “Gilderoy Lockhart,” he chirruped. “Pleasure to meet you, pleasure indeed. I’m a Ravenclaw myself, have you heard of me? I’m sure you must have.”

“No.” Yes.

Wait, fuck. Yes, he had heard of him. Shit.

Shit, shit.

He subconsciously looked around for exits.

“I live nearby, it’s nice to bump into a fellow wizard, isn’t it? Oh yes, I certainly seem to think so.”

“That’s... good.” Exit, exit, exit.

“Oh, where are my manners? My soulmark... soulmark, soulmark, oh there it is! Cheeky bugger.”

Peter watched in thinly veiled trepidation as Lockhart lifted his shirt to reveal a tiny lifelike image of himself looking up with a twinkling smile.

Well fuck him in the ass and call him Josephine. “What about you?”

Peter hoped his answer would scare Lockhart off.

“Don’t have one. Dead.”

“Oh that’s a shame,” he tittered. “Mm, that’s not good at all. Bad luck there I’m afraid. What brings you to the market on this fine sunny day?”

Peter slowly gestured to his basket. He had no idea what was happening. “Pasta?”

“Oh pasta’s nice. I much prefer chocolate myself, but I have to remember to refrain sometimes! It’s bad for my complexion. My, if you yourself were to hold back on the chocolate, your skin might become as good as mine! I myself doubt it though.”

As someone who was entering puberty, of course Peter’s skin wasn’t the best. “Right. So, where are your parents?”

“They’re dead,” Lockhart said simply. “Dead as a doornail!”

Peter winced. “That sucks.” Lockhart was like a blonde Batman, then. A main character in the works. Harry Potter’s destined soulmate.

Wow, that was a thought.

“Indeed. I have my maid Pompsy to look after me, so all’s well. She sometimes loves to just stand back and admire me! I can’t blame her, myself. I’ve always been such a beauty.”

Maybe she stood back to look back over her life choices and try not to cry about them.

Peter didn’t want to tell him off for being self-absorbed or anything, because by all means the world needed more confidence, but he still raised an eyebrow in interested bemusement. “You do have nice hair,” he mumbled.

“Thanks, I know I do.”

“Oh, look, someone’s calling me. Best be off.”

“I didn’t hear anyone?”

He tried another approach. “There’s an uh, there’s a zit on your nose?”

Lockhart squeaked and covered his nose, but by the time he looked back up, Peter was long gone.

..  
  


Peter entered Hogwarts for his third year in a daze.

Peter was tired of feeling like the world was going to end. Everything was shitty, from the cactus on the windowsill he couldn’t keep alive, to the socks he could never find, to the snoring from the three beds around him that wouldn’t stop, _why wouldn’t they stop_? But the worst thing by far was the classes.

Oh sure, he had known a Hogwarts education would be hard but it was third year that it all seemed to tip over and bury him. There was no internet, the only entertainment came from flat disks people played full volume in the common room that made it impossible to study. Sometimes the music in the common room was good, and sometimes he could look out the window in the dorm and pretend he was in a movie, but then he’d get angry because there were no good _movies_ he could remember clearly enough to picture himself in.

In colour, anyway. He could watch black and white ones but he always liked the new stuff rather than the classics. Watching Despicable Me for the thirtieth time was practically Gospel for him before he died.

(But he _had_ died and things had gone from _Shitty_ to _Really Shitty._ )

Every day the classes piled up more homework. Every class, no stops or breaks. He had to search for the books in the library, which were always undoubtedly checked out unless he put himself on the list for it in advance, and he had to find a good space in the library but the section where the third years sat was always crowded.

When it wasn’t crowded, something small always had to go wrong, like Lily was there or Snape was there or heaven forbid, both were there. Peter sometimes made eye-contact with them and it was always awkward, and he always stalked off with his ratty, ratty tail between his legs.

Also, hormones. Hormones were _shit_!

Time passed too quickly sometimes, and too slow other times. It always changed, like the beat of music in horror movies. It was when it went fast that he was like, ‘oh fuck. Oh fuck. Don’t walk in that door, Peter. No don’t do that. That’s a _bad idea, Peter._ ’

But the music was fast, and the door was the door to his next class.

(Then a bucket of paint would fall on his head, because believe it or not, he wasn’t well-liked and his ability to cast spells _sucked_. Defensive spells? Nah, he needed to learn how to magically tie his shoelaces first.)

Time went by in a blink, and every step was like walking in thick mud. Small moments stuck out, like that one time in the hallway he stopped and stared at everything around him with the realisation that, ‘ _huh. I really am alive, aren’t I?_ ’

It was stupid! Of course he was alive, didn’t his beating heart prove it? But that moment still stuck out in his memory like a sore thumb, and he didn’t even know _why_.

He talked negatively all the time, and made comments on everything, so why was that boring memory the one to make it to the hall of fame?

Peter wondered what it’d be like if someone ever did legilimency on him.

“Hmm, yes.” They would say, “looks like we’ve got existential doubt, too much sarcasm, a real big dumbass and hey, look at that. Daddy issues.”

(He remembered once, a long, long time ago — another lifetime, he had gone to a doctor and they had said he was perfectly mentally and physically healthy. “What, you’re upset about that?” The doctor had laughed when they saw Peter-not-Peter’s face. And not-Peter had said ‘ _no_ ,’ but he _was_.)

(He _was_ upset, because if he wasn’t mentally-unhealthy, then what _was_ he? An attention seeker? Did that mean he could get worse, that what he was feeling then was peak condition? What did that mean for him? He wanted to get better. He didn’t want to be told that that _was_ better.)

Self-diagnosed shebang now, because the school didn’t do those sort of checks and like hell his dad would ever take him to a doctor. Like hell Peter would ever ask.

(He was probably fine.)

Peter caught a glimpse of fire-engine red hair and made a sharp turn in a direction he knew didn’t lead to Defence. He ruffled his hair, met the eyes of a blonde boy a year younger than him, and made another quick turn back, ignoring the giggles of girls in the hallway. Pick his battles and all that.

Lockhart was annoying. Seemed to think they were friends. It wasn’t like Peter was better than him or anything, but if he wanted to deal with someone like Lockhart, he’d get a dog. He couldn’t get a dog though, because he had a frog and there was a one pet rule.

That’s right. He smiled softly to himself. He had a frog, he found on the edge of the forbidden forest.

It wasn’t a notable trip, really. He’d been wandering around at the start of the term when he’d spotted it, and he’d conjured a simple container to trap it in.

It’d settled down well in his dorm-room next to his bed.

James turned it pink sometimes, but that was fine. Jared was a great frog and under appreciated as a species, so it was good people were hanging around him. Even if Peter didn’t like his dorm-mates in the slightest.

Was it Jared, actually? Maybe it was Stephen. David?

“Peter,” Lily snipped.

No, that wasn’t it.

Lily walked slow, so he had caught up to her in practically a heartbeat, but once she caught sight of him she sped at his pace as if that was how she was walking from the beginning.

Peter was faintly amused, but most of all he was annoyed. “Evans.”

“Evans,” she growled, “oh, _groovy_. I’m wondering, do you call me that because you think I’m a _child_?”

“It was last year, let it go.” Peter walked faster.

“I want an apology!”

Peter sniffed and looked down his nose at her. He wasn’t very tall, but he was at least taller than her. “Funny that, so do I.”

“You’re a petulant _worm_.”

“I’ll sic Potter on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me.”

He opened the door to Defence and closed it in her face. She walked in after him rubbing her nose and glaring at him as if trying to set him on fire. Lily sat down in a huff next to Snape, who turned around to roll his eyes before turning back to the front in the same breath.

Peter sat alone.

Hell yeah, a cool kid. The coolest kid of the lot. He snorted. The only people who seemed to find him cool were teenage girls who had never spoken to him and therefore hadn’t gotten a grasp of his _fantastic_ personality.

“We’ll win the cup this year!” Potter cheered as he walked in, and spread out lazily across a seat in the back row. “Just you wait — that chaser from Ravenclaw? He’s as dead as my grandma! Love my grandma, by the way.”

“He’s probably as dead as my _mum_ ,” Sirius offered. “She’s alive, yeah, but it’s out of cold dead spite. I bet if she ever felt a lick of love aimed at anything other than towards my brother or the house-elf, she’d die from shock.”

“What a bitch,” James said solemnly.

“What a bitch.” Sirius clenched a fist and faked manly tears.

Remus wandered in, a small hole showing through his blazer. He practically dashed to sit next to Sirius, and looked at the front desk, which was still empty, before he sighed in relief. “Who’s the bitch?” He questioned them.

“Sirius’ mum.”

“Oh, her.” Remus acknowledged, “yeah. What a bitch.”

Lily turned around in her seat and glared at them. “You’re all so horrible! I can’t believe you talk about people like that!”

Peter fidgeted with his uniform pants.

Sirius snorted violently, while James erupted into goo.

Oh, he must have found about about their shared mark. When had that happened, Peter wondered.

“That’s because you’ve never met her, little miss perfect.“ Sirius smirked, “I bet your life’s all sunshine and daisies. Maybe you should meet my dear old mother. Her shrivelled old heart would make you _swoon_!”

Lily huffed. “Perfect? You think my life is _perfect_?”

“Ain’t it, sunshine?”

Lily puffed up, ready to spit fire, when the Defence teacher dramatically walked in. Everyone’s eyes flew to her figure, and Peter stopped doodling leaves and started to pay attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius’ hand lazily move in a stretch to cover a doodle of a woman with abnormally large boobs in the corner of his parchment.

Lily, disgruntled, turned to face the front.

“Hello, hello, hello!” The lady bellowed, her large bosom moving in tandem with her words. She swayed in and stood at the front, her garish purple dress clung tightly to her skin. A feathered pink scarf draped around her neck.

“Hello my little ducklings! I am Madame Selene. I’m here to teach you about Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

If Peter strained his ears, he could swear he could hear crickets.

“Hmm-hmm-hmm. Let’s see let’s see, does anyone know what a knife is?”

This year was going to be _great_.

He could just _tell_.

His head slumped down a bit, and a large knife flew at him and landed millimeters above his skull where it had just been.

“What the fuck?” Peter breathed. He looked up from under his eyelashes and yep, that was a knife handle sticking out of the wood at the back of the classroom, just above his head. He cautiously removed wood chips from his hair.

That nearly fucking _murdered_ him! He furiously glared at the teacher, who was standing with a cheerful smile, her hand outstretched. She dropped it gracefully to her side.

“Hmm-hmm-hmm. Mind your manners. Now let’s see, now that I have your attention, let me bring you to my first lesson; muggle weapons. Just because they’re not as fancy as your wandy-wands, doesn’t mean they can’t brutally kill you. Be a dear and pass that back to me, will you?”

Why the hell was Peter her practice dummy? He slowly leaned to the side and yanked on the handle, but it remained lodged in the wood firmly. He gave a sharper tug with two hands and it sprung out with a couple of splinters falling in its wake. Peter made to stand up and pass it back over, but the professor shook her head and gestured for him to sit down.

“Now now,” she smiled, her eyes shut so much that only a sliver of her eyes were visible. “Be a dear and throw it back, won’t you?”

Lily gasped and eyed her, flabbergasted. “He can’t do that! You can’t do that — what if you _hurt_ him? We can’t... that’s dangerous, Madam Selene.”

Her mouth curled. “Hmm-mm. That’s the point, that’s the point! Throw it back.”

Peter stared at her and looked at the knife.

“Oh? Why the hesitation?” Madam teased.

Sirius elbowed James. “Probably because the last time he held a knife he narrowly avoided a life sentence in Azkaban.”

“I nearly avoided a fucking what now?” Peter snarled at him.

“I’m just kidding!” He held both hands up. Must’ve realised that Peter was still holding the knife.

Madam Selene raised a painted eyebrow, and Peter turned to face her and raised a knife. One, two, three. He threw it, and she caught it out of midair.

“Not bad, not bad. Do you have a history throwing knifes, by any chance?”

Why th _e fuck would he_ — “no.”

“Hmm-hmm. Well, it was good nonetheless. Now, class.” Her gaze turned to focus on every student’s face in turn. A few gulped. “Let’s see how good the rest of you are.” Long, dark and unnatural eyelashes batted.

..

“I’m telling Dumbledore,” Lily hissed to a female Gryffindor in their year at dinner. Peter ate a spoonful of pees and nursed a shallow cut on his hand. He didn’t know who gave Sirius Black shoddy aim, but fuck them.

Madam Selene had evidently decided that throwing knives to each other in partners was a good idea.

(Maybe Sirius’ bad aim was on purpose, but he doubted it. Sirius had actually looked sorry for once in his life when he clipped Peter’s ear and Peter was surprised to find it looked completely genuine.)  
  


They had been aiming at targets above the other person’s head. Sirius had been partnered with Peter, and Peter had been stuck doing his best with shielding charms. Which he wasn’t very good at.

On that note, why was Sirius a beater? Maybe that was the point, when he got chosen.

Gryffindor wasn’t getting that cup, were they? Peter absently scratched at one of the freckles on his nose.

“You can’t!” Alice grinned, her eyes wide and delighted. “She’s the best we’ve ever had! Did you see the way she split that hair straight down the centre? They were both the same size, I saw it under the muggle glass thingy.”

“So did I but, Alice. This is _Hogwarts_. We learn magic, what she does is dangerous.”

“What she does, dear Evans,” Sirius winked as he slid beside her. Lily scrunched up her face and sidled back, “is teach us Defence. It’s her job!”

“Oh if it isn’t Mr ‘my life is so hard.’”

“Don’t forget, ‘who’s mum is a massive bitch’ at the end of that. Wouldn’t want to forget.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Peter ate another bite of peas. “Madam’s probably gonna be dead by the end of the year anyway,” he muttered.

“Ah,” Sirius grinned wickedly, “Mr ‘positive,’ my man in arms! Come here buddy, give me a hug.”

Peter flipped him the bird for lack of any retort. He missed the days Sirius scowled at him in the hallways.

James wandered over with his arm around Remus’ shoulder, and slotted in next to Sirius. James’ eyes remained steadily on Lily. “Hello, my flower.”

“Choke on it.”

“How cruel! Moony, don’t you think that’s cruel?”

Remus poured gravy over his potatoes and hummed in mock conviction.

“The world’s against me!”

Peter also missed the days he smoked pot under the staircases at his old school. He used to think that was rock bottom.

Wait, fuck. Maybe there was pot in the room of requirement? He subtly rose to his feet, and cleaned off his plate with one last spoonful. The bag practically jumped around his shoulder.

“Where’re you going, Mr Positive?”

“Reading,” he lied, not meeting Sirius’ eyes. “You should try it sometimes.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw one of his curls turn a horrendous shade of orange. He didn’t point it out, took it as a small mercy, and chanted the word ‘pot’ in his head all the way to the seventh floor.

..

Peter bumped shoulders with someone passing by.

His books jostled, and one fell onto the floor. He leaned down to pick it up, but a pale hand passed it over before his fingers could touch it.

Snape looked down his hooked nose at Peter’s face. Peter swallowed.

“It’s been a while,” he sneered.

Peter laughed awkwardly neatened up the books in his hands and looked in a different direction. “Yeah, yeah I guess. I gotta go.”

“Still as self-absorbed as ever, I see.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“Lily’s right,” Snape said. “You know she is.”

That had been practically out of nowhere, so Peter stood back, aghast.

Any awkwardness vanished as if it had never been there. “You would think that.”

Of course Snape would agree with Lily, Peter knew that, which was why he hadn’t bothered to try and reason with Snape. Snape was loyal to one person, and Peter wasn’t them. Also, racist. That was a good reason as to why Peter didn’t like him.

“I think you’d do best,” Snape drawled, “to remember that you’re not the only one with a hard life. Lily hasn’t been a child for a long time, neither have I. I think the real ‘child’ is you.”

Wow, how well put. “You’re going there? Really. And is that so, huh? _I’m_ the child. Fuck you. You don’t know _shit_.”

“Ah,” he hummed, “You can’t be as stupid as to believe that standing up for your friends isn’t worth your own misfortune.” He spoke slowly, and it was almost like he looked over every word before he spat it out.

Peter snorted and laughed loudly, and it echoed through the hallway. “You’re the one trying to tell me this? _You_?”

His face soured even further. “Because I’m a _Slytherin_?”

“No. Because you’re an _asshole_.”

“If I defended Lily, and you didn’t, then what does that make you?”

So that was what Snape was doing. He thought Snape was just being obnoxious.

What’d that make Peter? Not an idiot. Nonetheless, Peter felt a bit queasy. “I was protecting myself, if you were my friend, you’d understand.”

Snape smiled bitterly. “But that’s just it. We’re not friends.”

“You’re a racist,” Peter said. “Forgive me for not wanting to defend a racist.”

“Better a ‘racist’ then whatever you are. I was only speaking the truth.”

“So you honestly believe ‘better blood’ is a thing? Well that’s fantastic! One day that mentality’s going to backfire, and Lily will bear the brunt of it.”

“Lily is different from the others, I know that. She won’t.”

Peter snorted, “you’re really choosing exceptions, huh?”

Snape gritted his teeth. “I have known a fair few muggles. My father, for example. He beat it into me quite literally that my ‘freakishness’ was a mistake of nature. I have a reason for my statements, Pettigrew. I know quite well what muggles are like, so forgive me if I don’t want to be anything like them.”

“You’re not some sort of revolutionary. You’re narrow minded.”

“Better narrow minded than whatever you are.”

Snape swirled around and his cloak whipped around his feet. He walked away, as if he’d made a valid point, as if he thought that would change Peter’s thinking, and didn’t look back. Peter soured and soured and soured and hurt and soured more.

Snape didn’t know anything.

He didn’t.

A racist was all he was, so Peter didn’t want anything to do with him. The day he’d listen to a racist was the day he’d think Dumbledore smelled nice.

Similar life? Fine. _Fine_. They weren’t the same though. Snape didn’t know what Peter did. Snape didn’t know what waited for him, he didn’t know that Peter used to have an entire fucking life before, that he left behind!

He knew _nothing_.

Nothing. He knew nothing about Peter, he knew nothing about self preservation and he knew nothing about what was to come.

(Peter _meant_ to leave everything behind. He knew that. But that wasn’t the point, that _wasn’t the point—_ )

Couldn’t anyone _see_?

Couldn’t anyone fucking _see_?

Peter didn’t want this! He didn’t want his dad, or Hogwarts, or James or Sirius or Remus, or soulmates or a stupid fucking dorm room with stupid fucking people around him who didn’t _care_ , and wouldn’t ever _care_.

But hey; maybe that wasn’t fair, because Peter didn’t care either! He didn’t. He — well, he did. A little bit. Too much.

And.

Ah!

Fuck, after a while everything became so confusing and repetitive and he wanted fucking _off_. He didn’t want to have _friends_ , he didn’t want to have his fate, he didn’t want to be a fucking sacrificial lamb for people and fuck, he didn’t want _anything_.

( _Couldn’t anyone see?_ )

Peter wanted nothing more in the world other than his own security.

Didn’t he deserve that?

Didn’t he?

If he didn’t want to defend Lily, then that was his right. If he didn’t want to help Snape, then that was his right, and he believed himself justified.

(He felt lonely. Even so, he didn’t want them back.)

Peter broke down in the hallway and cradled his legs close. His face felt hot and wet.

If he didn’t want to be sympathetic, or helpful, or kind or looking out for people then hell, he wouldn’t be. He didn’t owe that to anyone other than himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to take advantage of this and ask for some good One Piece or Harry Potter self-inserts. Or original characters, if they’re written extremely well. Especially ones where they’re reborn into a character!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next update is longer, so it’ll take a bit longer to upload. So a bit more than a week. 
> 
> Any constructive criticism would be appreciated.  
> Have a good day!


	4. Mary, Fifth Year and a Sea of Purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for the recs last chapter! I expected maybe five when I asked for some; woah! The amount I actually got made me so happy! Thank you so, so much.
> 
> Also you may have realised I promised an update in a week last chapter. That... did not happen. My apologies. I have no excuses.
> 
> *edited, but not very well. There will definitely be mistakes here, my bad, I did the best I could which was partially why it took a long time to update. This is just. Very long, you see

“She must love me! I’m her soulmate,” James whined. His voice was partially muffled in his red pillow. “I think about her all the time! We were meant to be, it was written in the _stars_.”

It was another incredibly early morning, and Peter found himself holding his pillow tightly around his ears. He scrunched up his eyes and curled into a ball.

The amount of times people talked about soulmates was ridiculous. And tiring.

“Well you see James, Sirius is ‘ _written in the stars‘_ and yet he’s still a dumbass,” Remus muttered.

People were so strung up on the idea of a happy ending that after a while, Peter just wished they would see how hard a ‘happy ending’ was to attain in the first place. Maybe then they’d shut up.

_Before_ , the main topic of conversation around him - _her_ \- tended to be teenage boys. Now it was the same, except with soulmarks, so it was like ‘teenage boys and romance topics on steroids.’

“Hey, hey now. I _am_ a star. Be Sirius here,” Sirius shook his head in disapproval. “Our best friend is having some problems.”

Remus groaned. Peter felt vaguely sympathetic.

(But... people didn’t see how hard an idealistic ending was to actually achieve. All they saw were soulmarks; they were right in front of their faces, after all.)

People could write sad poetry, they could tell their stories of heartbreak and unfulfilled matches but in the end, no one would listen. No one would think the idea of a bad ending applied to _them_ , personally. No one listened, looked twice, or cared. And so Peter wallowed alone. No one _understood_ him.

(He was probably wrong, he knew that. Surely he wasn’t the only one who _knew_. But who could blame him for believing that there wasn’t anyone else. With people being the _way they were_. They always talked about soulmates. Always!)

James continued on, unfaltering. “Sometimes when I look down I see a knife on my arm! It used to be flowers and rose petals and now it’s knives. _Knives_!”

If people believed that their partner was obliged, or fated, to love them, it meant they didn’t put in the effort. Effort was what made relationships. Destiny or not, without effort, relationships were nothing.

(But some would succeed in finding their soulmates without effort. Some. And it was those few people that others ‘saw’ to their dying day, those few people that the world strived to _be like_. That they _hoped_ for. And then _others_ would inevitably find themselves alone — like _him_ , like _Peter_ , and as their last breath escaped — only then would they realise that soulmates were not _obligated_ to find them. Or love them. Or be with them. Marks were, in the end, only a mark. A concept. A myth.)

“Relax, it’s likely because of Defence.” Remus reasoned with him. “Lily is probably just thinking about that, and if she’s not, that’s fine. Just be nice to her, it’ll work out.”  
  


James slowly repeated the word ‘fine.’

Peter replaced his pillow by blocking his ears with his fingers instead.

People saw what they chose to see.

Say there was a news article of a man who waited for his other half on the beach for many years. When he died, say he became a ghost and waited for the rest of eternity.

People would think, ‘oh that’s so romantic.’ They’d think, ‘that would never happen to me,’ they’d think, ‘love transcends all, surely they’ll find each other as ghosts,’ they’d think and think and think but in the end, they wouldn’t think of the _right things._

(They wouldn’t think that maybe, just maybe, that man would never find his happy ending. That maybe he should give up.)

Peter had seen the reality of soulmates the moment his father had shown him his mark. He’d seen a ‘perfect pair,’ a ‘perfect _reality_ ,’ and decided he didn’t want it.

“I got her flowers last Thursday!”

“Those flowers _exploded_ all over her.”

“So I messed up water with explosive chemicals, _big deal._ ”

“I’m actually astounded when I reflect on that,” Remus hummed, “don’t know how you managed that one.”

James ignored him.

Sirius laughed loudly, “‘big deal’ is that you’re still riding out those detentions, mate!”

James ignored him too.

Rising sunlight streamed in from the window, and Peter mumbled nonsense into the crook of his elbow. He was half asleep, and despite the fingers in his ears, could still make out talking from his roommates. 

It already felt like it was going to be a long day.

A small croaking noise reminded him of Jared’s existence, and he lazily slumped up in his bed and rolled back the curtains. The noise in the room levelled down, like water over a flame, and he steadily didn’t look in their direction; instead, he reached down for a jar of flies.

He tapped the top of the jar, and a half dead fly arrived on the top. He used his tweezers to drop it in the frog tank. Mylene-Jared-Patrick-Danny-whatever ate the bug, bored.

He really needed to find a name that would stick for him.

“Are those frogs on your curtains?”

Peter looked up at Sirius briefly and nodded. “Yeah.”

“ _Frogs_.”

Peter picked up clothes to get changed into. It was the weekend, and he planned to make the most of it by sleeping by the lake and doing absolutely nothing. He was going to be lonely, and it was going to be _effortless_. It would be fantastic. 

(The idea of being ‘lonely’ had rooted itself deep within him. It was just Peter and his practically unnamed frog against the world.)

“Ha,” he heard Sirius whisper to Remus when Peter walked past on his way to the bathroom door. “He’s so cute, but he’s such a bloody asshole.” Peter froze. His eyebrow twitched.

Peter was thirteen and twenty and he’d never been cute a day in his life. He made sure to flip them all off on the way out. 

“Fucker.” He flipped around and turned his face so they didn’t see the faint pink that he was sure dusted his cheeks. “Fucker!” He repeated louder.

“See? Asshole.”

..

The nap was good.

(On the way back to the castle he found a bathroom and scrutinised his own face.

Not cute at _all_.)

..

The fun part about the Hogwarts library wasn’t that there was a large variety of books; no, the _fun_ part was that most happenings in the library certainly for the most part weren’t legal. Which was saying something because it was in a school. Full of young children. Since Peter sat at the back of the library — far away from where people his age usually sat, specifically Lily, Snape and Lupin — he knew this very well.

  
(He wasn’t hiding from Sirius and James so much; they rarely if ever at all went to the library. Most of the time they just made Remus take the books they wanted back to the dorm.)

In the library students organised meetings, or gathered incredibly dark books, or just generally had a fun time doing things that they weren’t supposed to. 

Like blood rituals.

Peter stayed well away from those.

He could’ve done the right thing and reported the students who did or discussed illegal things; maybe he could have tipped Hagrid off to who were constantly stealing his chickens, but unfortunately, Peter couldn’t have named a single student from Slytherin other than Snape or Regulus, even if one were to point a gun at his head. He also couldn’t have given less of a damn.

He just didn’t want to get involved in whatever — uh, ‘that’ — was.

So... No involvement.

Instead, although he sat near the back, he found places well away from the dark secluded corners.

(He tried to not overhear anything in the first place.)

He tried to sit nearby other students when he could, even if he did like to study alone.

When he was others, there was less of a chance that illegal happenings would occur nearby.

It was one of the ‘bad study days’ unfortunately, which was evident in the way that the only seats at the back that were available, were near the dark secluded corners. And people were in the corners, possibly discussing the things that Peter had previously thought of. Peter chose to sit near the slightly less darker corner, with a young female Ravenclaw. The young student was obviously unfamiliar with how the library worked, and so as a group of Slytherins inevitably chatted loudly in the corner about fake IDs, she anxiously tried to make eye-contact with Peter.

With all of the skills of a veteran, Peter avoided the attempted eye-contact and pretended he was either deaf or blind. Just like the good, amazing older role model he was.

Such was life at Hogwarts.

“Yeah, Knockturn alley,” someone Peter had seen once or twice whispered to his friend. “It’s called ‘Souregnad,’ it’s in the first left alleyway. Father mentions it occasionally, apparently it deals in very secretive business.” He stressed the word secretive, which Peter took to meaning ‘illegal.’*

It was fantastic how students didn’t seem to realise that others could overhear them. Again, Peter wouldn’t act on anything he heard, because fuck that, but surely one day there’d be someone who _would_.

Whatever. It wasn’t any of his business. What _was_ his business was highlighting key paragraphs on muggle defensive strategies.

“So if I get one of those you’ll reckon he’ll let me join?”

Guy-he’d-seen-around-once-or-twice-before snorted. “Oh please, Rudolphus. He’s not _stupid_. He most likely already knows everything about you. He knows everything about most purebloods, you see. As is his duty, as our lord.”

Peter highlighted another sentence. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the Ravenclaw fidgeting like she was prepared to bolt, her eyes flickered to the corner and back to Peter as if asking him to do something. She looked like a startled mouse.

  
  


He smiled to comfort her, and she relaxed a bit. He then turned back to his parchment, ready to ignore her, and noticed her become tense again. Damn. He was hoping that would make her settle down for longer.

He bet if he intervened with the Slytherins in the corner his life would immediately hit the fast track for him to be promoted to _Dark Lord Lackey._ Fuck that. Fuck everything, he just wanted to learn about the positives and negatives of knife tossing Merlin _damnit_.

Just as he was about to highlight some line about how apparently ‘using muggles for practice was inhumane and dark,’ a Hufflepuff girl who had to be about his age peeked around one of the bookshelves. 

The table full of Slytherins fell into silence. _Oh sure_ , Peter thought darkly to himself. Don’t notice the quaking Ravenclaw, but go ahead and notice the _quiet Hufflepuff_ in the corner.

The girl wandered over to a shelf near Peter, and occasionally peeked out at him. After a short minute she gave up pretending she was looking at the books and wandered right next to him. The Ravenclaw watched them from across the table, and Peter fought against the urge to throw his quill at her.

“Pettigrew, isn’t it?”

He awkwardly fidgeted with his quill in one hand, and tried to casually look up in a way that upheld the ‘cool, quiet kid in the library’ facade. The Hufflepuff was very pretty, with dark brown eyes and high-cheekbones. “That’d be me. What’s up?”

She looked to the side awkwardly and back. “My friend... Amanda, she wanted to know what your soulmark was.”

Out of the corner of Peter’s eye, he noticed the Slytherins exchange glances. One of them flicked their wand, and a soft buzzing filled the area in their direction.

Oh _great_ fucking decision, guys. Couldn’t they have done that earlier?

Also. Why the _fuck_ would the Hufflepuff want to know about his soulmark? He thought it was common knowledge that his soulmate was dead, it wasn’t like he put in any effort to hide it. It was literally the first thing he said to some people.

(He found it funny.)

The Hufflepuff stared down at her hands and fidgeted.

Smoothly, Peter highlighted another sentence on muggle defensive tactics. “My soulmate’s dead. Why?”

The girl paled dramatically, and her head jolted up to stare at him in equal surprise and horror. “Ah! I’m so sorry!” 

The Ravenclaw nearby looked equally affronted. A few Slytherins in the corner glanced over.

“It’s fine. Why did you want to know?” 

She fidgeted and looked around. “Uh, Amanda... her soulmate is platonic, and she wants to get an um, a boyfriend because she wanted to see what it was like and uh — you’ll have to ask her about the other stuff, I think — so she was wondering about you but if you’re not interested after, well, that... that’s perfectly fine.”

“Oh, cool.” Peter tried to straighten his face to not appear like he wanted to run. Because he certainly felt like running. “That’s... nice, but yeah, I’m not interested. Sorry.”

He was a little flattered that he had been asked, but mostly he was just confused. Why ask Peter, when he was a loner? He wasn’t trying to be modest or anything, but he knew for a fact that he was totally average appearance wise. One of the best things going for him was his hair, but the rest was something you’d see on the street and not blink twice at.

(He therefore blamed her asking on the lack of options at Hogwarts.)

It was common for people with platonic soulmates to date people outside of them. It was why dating was still a thing, although it was heavily frowned upon by certain circles. To be with your soulmate was unavoidable, according to their culture, but also according to wizarding and muggle culture; platonic soulmates didn’t exist, and that had been proven wrong _centuries_ ago. 

To put it simply, wizarding and muggle society didn’t believe in dating unless it was with the person’s soulmate or soulmates. If someone had a soulmate that was known by others to be their soulmate, yet they dated someone _else_ , they usually didn’t get treated that well. 

After a lot of time, platonic soulmates dating others was steadily accepted, although, quoted from one of the Gryffindors at Peter’s table, the idea was still ‘on fucking thin ice.’

After all, If the world allowed you a perfect match, why pull against it? 

(His mum could have been a lot happier with someone else. In Peter’s mind, she had settled for someone less because the universe had told her to do so. She deserved better. That was why Peter knew the answer to that question. ‘Why pull against it?’ Because the universe wasn’t always looking out for you.)

Peter didn’t care if people dated someone who wasn’t destined to be with them. He wanted nothing to do with deciding things for others. If they wanted to date people, then they could. In the past, plenty of couples had ended up together that weren’t soulmates.

(His mum would have been better off without his dad.)

But even so.

Even if people found their soulmates and were destined to be happy, even if people found other matches that weren’t destined for them and found happiness.

Even through all of that —

Peter didn’t want a soulmate. Or a match. Or anyone.

He never had, even before his soulmate died. 

(‘Never.’ That was a lie. The idea of a soulmate when he was younger seemed amazing, prophetic, unbiased and beautiful. It was only when he grew up that he faced reality.)

Which was why he turned the Hufflepuff down.

Also because she wasn’t ‘Amanda.’ Who asked for their friends, anyway?

_Also_.

Peter was like. _Really_ old.

Sure, his maturity matched his age, and so did his thought processes at times, but most of the time he felt like he was surrounded by children. He was thirteen, and he really didn’t feel like that was a good age to start dating others, even if it worked for other people.  
  


“That’s alright. I’m sorry for asking, I didn’t know...”

He replied with a strained smile, and the Hufflepuff practically ran away.

He didn’t want to try and find a soulmate. _Now or ever._ He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was just as hopeful and whimsical and dumb — dumb! — as the rest of the world. He knew better. He knew better!

So he wouldn’t try.

In hindsight, he was probably asked because he had never shown a sign of wanting his soulmate in public, because it was usually a fairly normal topic of conversation. Popular people like Sirius and James talked about their mark frequently. 

Sirius and James were enamoured with the idea of a perfect match; James had actually found his, and hadn’t stopped talking about it since the moment he had.

Sirius just told people that if he didn’t find his soulmate, his mother would probably pair him with a cousin.

(Yeah. Sirius was trying really hard to find his soulmate.)

..

It was common knowledge in third year that Snape really wanted to be with Lily — it was obvious with how he looked at her; but due to the issue with out-of-soulmate-dating, Lily didn’t want to do the same. Or maybe she just didn’t want to date Snape because Snape was Snape. Peter didn’t know everything. Or blame her, if that was the case.

It was a mess all around in that area of the school, so Peter made sure to keep a firm distance.

(Peter was just surprised the Hufflepuff hadn’t asked _Remus_. Maybe she _had_ and Peter was the second choice. Remus didn’t talk about his soulmate at all either, other than basic information like ‘flower’ and ‘stomach.’ Sirius and James had seen it at least, Peter knew that much from a few snippets. Remus was very private about it, so Peter had been respectful and ignored them whenever they brought it up.)

Remus had said he didn’t like showing people because he didn’t like people seeing his stomach. Peter guessed it was because of werewolf scars or something. The dorm had shrugged it off as Remus being a bit self conscious, so they left the topic alone.

Honestly, Remus’ soulmate kind of reminded Peter of his own. In a different reality, Peter would have been more curious, or maybe even have asked to see Remus’ mark. But in the end, Peter’s was dead, so it didn’t matter.

He sensed someone looking at him. Peter raised an eyebrow at the Ravenclaw at the end of the table and shoved his books into an over-the-shoulder bag. She turned pink and buried her nose into a big tome.

People were confusing. He rubbed his ears to get rid of the irritable buzzing from the direction of the Slytherins, and finally exited the library.

..

“Can’t you just _talk_ to him?”

Peter raised an eyebrow at the small Gryffindor at the common room entrance. Her hands were firmly on her hips. He didn’t know her personally, but he had seen her around.

“Why don’t you?” Peter muttered.

“Because he’s not come here to talk to me!”

“Well how about that... He didn’t call me for me, either.”

The girl scrunched up her face, unimpressed. “He did. He called your name. Your full name.”

As if to punctuate that remark, Lockhart yelled for a ‘Peter Pettigrew’ for the third time that evening. 

“Ah, no.” Peter said, “I’m Greta Grettigrew. I’m new. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

The girl opened the portrait hole. Bitch!

Peter was shoved outside in a following motion, and the portrait was shut firmly behind him.

“Fuck you!” He yelled through the portrait. The fat lady pursed her lips in cold disappointment. 

He couldn’t hear a reply, so Peter turned around to face Lockhart with clenched teeth and twitching fingers. “Hey... what’s up?”

“I’m so glad this is the right room! I mean, of course I knew that, but maybe it swapped around. The castle does that sometimes, you see.” Peter decided not question Lockhart on how he had found the Gryffindor common room in the first place. It didn’t really matter.

Peter’s fingers twitched again. “Great, great. So why did you want to see me?”

“We haven’t talked since the market!”

Lad must‘ve not had a lot of friends.

“Cool,” Peter drew out. “Hey, Lockhart, I’ve had a _long_ week. In fact, I’m on my way to the library, so I have to be off.” A stone cold lie. He had initially planned to just hide in an isolated corner of the common room to subtly search for a gobstone James had lost around a month prior, so that he could take it and glue it to the ceiling.

(He was bored.)

“I can come too!”

Peter started walking down the empty hallway, and Lockhart scrambled to keep up. He skipped daintily beside Peter.

“Don't,” Peter said. He was nothing if not blunt — it was rude to say things outright, he knew that, but he also knew that not saying anything was often worse. If he was Lockhart, he’d want the truth. So Peter was really doing him a favour. “In fact, I will literally curse you so that you can’t come with me. As I said, I’ve had a long week and if I have to hear your voice anymore than this I will literally commit homicide.” 

Lockhart stared, stupefied. “That’s... murder, right?”

“Yeah.” Peter awkwardly looked away and quickly changed what he was about to say. He was sure that the portraits would tell Dumbledore if he was straight forward in threatening a fellow student’s life. “I’m just saying, we have more house-elves than we really need, so I’d be doing a favour for everyone by killing a few off. Less mouths to feed. In fact, why don’t you just congratulate me on my fantastic idea and be off? Go annoy other strangers you met once in a shop, or do whatever it is you do.” He knew that the portraits wouldn’t say anything about threatening house-elves, because face it, no one at Hogwarts really cared about house-elves.

An odd look overtook Lockhart’s face. “You’d be... thanked, for that?”

“Oh for sure, I’d definitely be thanked for killing Hogwart’s cooking staff and oh look you’re pointing a wand at me.” Peter was so done with the week, and it wasn’t even Wednesday.

Lockhart seemed surprised at the motion too, but didn’t lower it. Instead he pointed it a bit higher until it was directly pointed at his head. “You’re —“

“Kidding!” Peter edged away.

He thought the mind erasing tendencies came in at a later date, but alright.

Lockhart seemed to catch himself and laughed awkwardly. Peter laughed awkwardly back. “Okay, but seriously,” Peter steadily avoided eye contact, “I need alone time. Nice of you to come say hi but I’ve got to go.”

Lockhart, sensing the mood, practically ran away. Peter watched him go with his wand held nervously aloft. For his own sanity Peter was going to say that Lockhart pointed his wand at him in order to protect the sentient little beings that made them chicken wings, and not to obliviate him senseless and _actually_ kill them, for potential glory.

Peter slowly closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Everything was fine. Yep, everything was okay. He wasn’t threatened by a fictional character over a joke — although admittedly terrible, nope, not at all. Peter didn’t get threatened — he was greeted, nicely, and then Lockhart walked away. Everything was turning up a-ok.

..

Yeah fuck that he was going to go and eat more lasagna in the kitchens. What with Lockhart and that Hufflepuff encounter in the library and overhearing about fake IDs, he was done. Really just done.

..

Peter had many journals under his bed. Locked away with his mother’s name as a password, he wrote about things he that he remembered about who he once was. What he longed for. What he didn’t want to forget.

It was for him, that was why he wrote it down. Documented it.

It was for someone to discover when he was long dead.

It was something for them to potentially _marvel_ over; something for them to write down and _learn_ from. It was a _secret_ , and it would remain a secret — there were way too many protective charms added on for it to be otherwise.

(It could be argued that keeping that knowledge in a single place was dangerous and naive.

But he wasn’t naive. The information was completely safe. Dangerous to have down? No. He just wrote about who he was, not anything about knowing — anything else. Just who he once was. He wouldn’t necessarily tell anyone about that information voluntarily, but if people were to find out about it, it wouldn’t do him much harm.

There were networks of charms layered over it. Layers and layers and layers. Most likely the information would never see the light of day.)

The journals were just about _Her_ , with the little house with the big back yard and the small family and the dreams that remained unfulfilled.

Without his past, who was he?

Peter didn’t want to forget. That was all.

  
Peter walked to the kitchen and suddenly remembered _Her_ trying her best to recreate random facial expressions that showed up on the television. Her mum would laugh, so she’d laugh too and try to recreate more and more.

He planned to write it down when he got back.

..

“Misters Pettigrew is happy, yes?” Ditzy asked him, as loyal as ever. As soon as she saw that he had entered she made a beeline to him and took up all of his attention. Maybe it was to get him to stop annoying the other houses-elves, and she was just taking one for the team, but he liked to think that she liked him after their heart to heart back in second year.

“Absolutely fantastic,” he muttered into the table.

“Please forgives Ditzy, but she doesn’t think so.”

“Alright, I’ll guess I’ll tell you my life story.”

“Uhm. Please... don’t.”

That was harsh. Well fine, it wasn’t like he needed to vent anyway. And no one could accuse him of never offering information. 

Peter stared her in the eyes and started to talk regardless. 

“My dad remarried when I was young, and so I gained a new mother and two stepsisters. They never really liked me, which was shit because my dad died like a week after—“

..

“My Lily-flower, please accept this heartfelt song written by yours truly.”

“James I swear if you don’t sit down now...”

James stepped onto the chair and subsequently onto the table, where he gestured at Sirius to start playing his guitar. The salad got knocked over as he moved and Peter mourned it silently.

Sirius began to strum. It didn’t sound good at all, and Peter wondered if he’d ever played a guitar before that point. Where’d he even get the guitar from? He didn’t remember seeing it around the dorm.

Sirius was either very subtle about having it, or he had borrowed it off someone. So he’d probably borrowed it, because ‘subtle’ wasn’t in Sirius’ vocabulary.

  
  


“Lily, Lily, you make me silly.”

Peter gagged. Lily winced. Someone out of the corner of his eye started crying. He paused mid-bite and looked over to her, eyebrows raised. It wasn’t _that_ bad.

Instead of analysing it, Peter decided he didn’t care, and busied himself with his fork.

“ _I want to_ — Professor I’m sorry just, ow! That’s my ear, hey, Professor I — alright, coming, I’m coming! Sorry Lily, maybe another, _ouch_.” McGonagall pulled James away by the ear, so he jumped onto the seat and onto the floor. He got pulled out into the distance. Peter internally bid him goodbye, thoroughly amused.

Oh, wait.

Merlin, he _didn’t finish the song_. That meant Peter’d be pondering over the rest of the lyrics for at least the next few days.

Peter sighed to himself while the group of people around him watched after James and McGonagall in amusement as well as a variety of other expressions. Sirius cackled madly.

Sirius jumped up behind Peter and ran off to James. Lily glared at their retreating figures.

‘I want to let you have my coat so you wouldn’t be chilly?’ That seemed probable. It was just awful enough that James could have possibly come up with it.

The girl who was crying rose to her feet, and Peter absently recognised her as Alice. At her friend’s questioning, she shoved a letter in their faces and ran off out of the great hall. The sharp movement of the letter knocked the gravy onto the plate of assorted cheeses, and suddenly, Peter felt like crying himself. He stared at the gravy mournfully. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer.

Alright, so maybe Peter was _still_ a little bored.

“Oh, Alice...” Lily trailed off, and he steadfastly ignored her as he had been doing for years. He was very good at it.

“What is it?” Remus asked.

Lily’s eyes were blown wide, her posture drawn in. “Her mum’s been... murdered.” She hiccuped slightly. “Poor Alice. I don’t know what — I don’t... I’m going to go comfort her.”

The disrespect people aimed at the food was astounding. Sure, Peter wasn’t the best example of a good citizen, but he at least didn’t knock over glasses and plates and gravy and just _left them there_. He was respectful to the house-elves who made their food, cleaned their rooms — actually, they seemed to have given up on the marauder’s and Peter’s room but that wasn’t the point — they _deserved respect_.

Lily rushed off, the previous anger and embarrassment over James’ performance forgotten. Peter nearly had an aneurism when he noticed that in her rush to follow Alice, she had knocked over the butter. Well fuck, the world was just few throws away from a food fight, wasn’t it. Peter awkwardly leaned over the table to straighten up the butter dish. He used the knife to push it back on.

He couldn’t do anything for the gravy, unfortunately.

Peter frowned.

He couldn’t reach the salad.

And really. People ran out of the Great Hall a lot, didn’t they? It happened all too frequently, to such an extent that the hall was constantly moving. With students sitting on the floor to spread out and study, or even just standing around or moving aimlessly, the hall was always a mess.

And then there was James, who decided to try and serenade people — what were the rest of the lyrics? Seriously, that was going to bother Peter all day — and Sirius, who never shut up. Then there was a Ravenclaw nearby that laughed incredibly loudly — he rarely stopped, and sure, one could say that that was good in these times; joy was hard to come by; but Peter just thought it was annoying.

(Hogwarts was always busy busy busy.)

Although the layout of the castle was still a mystery, he could recognise some students because of how much they saw each other around in the great hall and the castle. Peter didn’t necessarily talk to them, but sometimes he’d pass them in the hallways and he’d be able to pin where he remembered them from. Like, ‘oh that’s that Hufflepuff who ate that entire pumpkin last Halloween on a dare.’ Even if people didn’t have names associated with them, they had their faces, their demeanour, their voices memorised in his head.

Peter wondered if people remembered _him_ from anything; and if so, what for?

(Maybe he was an anomaly in recognising people who he saw in the hall. But then again, there weren’t a lot of students because of the war, so it wasn’t like it was _hard_ to remember the faces of people. Even knowing this however, he didn’t believe people would remember _him_. Peter was a nobody, and that was how he liked it.)

“That’s terrible,” Remus frowned. He stared at his scarred hands. “I hope she’ll be alright. I never met her mum but Alice spoke highly of her.”

Would they remember Peter as the quiet Gryffindor? As the one who would, without fail, always reach for the lasagna first if it was available? The one people moved away from in their seats, the one girls and boys occasionally stared at — as if he was a pretty, curious rock — the one who was... blond? 

(Well, if people stared at him, maybe he wasn’t a nobody. That _wasn’t_ comforting.)

Well. He didn’t know what people thought of him as a whole; maybe a few people, like the marauders and Lily and Snape, who didn’t seem to like him, but other than that he drew a blank. And that was alright, because people’s opinions didn’t matter that much anyway.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Remus was neatly putting the salad back into the bowl with a pair of tongs, and so Peter snapped to attention. Remus looked at him curiously, and Peter’s mind went incredibly fast for a few seconds. Fuck, what were they talking about? Alices mum? The look seemed as if Remus was expecting Peter to say something. Ha, fuck.

Out of it, mind busy, Peter replied. “Get her mum a get well soon card.” They were saying something about Alice’s mum being unwell?

Remus jolted and moved to stare at him. “Pardon?”

“Uh. Get well soon card.”

“That’s not funny.” What? Was that a frowned upon custom in wizarding society?

“I thought people liked those?”

Remus suddenly rose to his feet and stepped away from the table. He gave Peter a withering glare. “You know what? I’ve never thought you were that bad, no matter what people said. But they’re right. You really are an asshole.”

He hauled up his book-bag and left.

Uh.

What the fuck?

Peter looked after his retreating figure, bewildered. Half of him was wondering why Remus had rushed off like that, and the other half was debating what the rest of the lyrics to James’ song were. He turned once more to the fallen gravy and sighed.

..

So...

Peter had said something wrong.

He couldn’t remember _what_ it was, but apparently his roommates were all in agreement that whatever it was he said was terrible, and so had taken it upon themselves to subtly make his life hell.

‘Subtly’ was the key word. He didn’t think Sirius was capable of it before. They didn’t curse him outright, or call him names or do anything other than their usual behaviour. But some things didn’t add up; like the fact that his shoes kept being found outside the dorm room, or how there was one day, a live snake in his bed — or how he woke up and somehow found all of his pillow covers inside out and dyed a terrible shade of maroon that didn’t come out.

It was annoying. And Peter liked to think that he was upfront. He already sat alone. He already cowered. He didn’t have anything to lose.

So, still utterly and irrevocably confused, he stood up for himself.

Peter replaced Sirius’ bath salts with solid sugar and shook his head in silent disappointment.

Fuckers. Whatever he said couldn’t have been _that_ bad, it wasn’t like he was ever nice to them in the first place. They’d never liked him, but they’d been respectful enough of the privacy and comfort of the dorm enough to leave him alone.

He didn’t know what he said, so he couldn’t apologise for it. It must’ve been the tipping point for them however, because it was soon that rarely a day passed that things didn’t go wrong for him.

So, in self defence, Peter had started to pay them back for the pranks in equal, subtly annoying shit. The toilet paper role was the wrong way. The order of the socks in the cupboard near their beds was suddenly incorrect, the small picture frames of treasured family members were put face down.

Alright.

So Peter was the first to admit that maybe the picture frame thing was a _bit_ too far. _They_ certainly had seen it as horrendous, because everything had increased two-fold by that point.

Did Peter himself see what he did with the frames as a horrible notion? Well, yes, but the moment before that Peter had discovered green goo across his trunk, so when his eyes had seen the frames and the idea had come to his head; well, it was free game.

In response, they hid pulsing slime in his frog tank, which Peter had panicked about until he figured out it was non toxic. So Peter put the slime into their pillowcases, which Peter woke to find draped over his bed and oozing onto his maroon pillow case. In thorough disgust and annoyance, he disconnected all of their lamps from the power sources through terribly placed cutting charms.

He then blew up the lamps, until they were all black and molten. Then he hid them in the ceiling.

To counter that, they hid the cover of _his_ lamp. Peter found it weeks later under the common room couch when some curious second year looked under it to see if she could find any coins. It was shrunken in a shallow bowl of cream cheese. Which had gone bad.

Peter charmed their pillows to whisper different recipe variations for Niffler Chocolate Balls. It was worth noting that there was a surprising amount of those recipes; wizards really liked their chocolate balls apparently.

(It was hilarious to be half asleep at 2am, and to turn over and hear a distant whisper saying something along the lines of ‘add the melted chocolate and stir thoroughly,’ followed by a loud shout.)

In turn they charmed his bed to make large honking toots whenever Peter sat down on it.

He hid their trunks in the ceiling with the burned and disfigured lamps. Although, he eventually felt bad about it and returned the trunks. A week later.

One of them charmed his pants to change colour every ten minutes. Peter hadn’t minded that prank, but McGonagall still gave him detention. During that detention they took the opportunity to stick a realistic image of a Hinkypunk to the place just above his pillows. That morning had been a surprise. He had stretched and looked up only to nearly promptly lose it.

So Peter moved all of the furniture one inch to the right and set back and watched all three walk into corners and edges. Sirius had actually shed a tear from that one after he’d stubbed his toe. They had all looked at him, but they couldn’t actually work out what he did. Peter had thought himself brilliant until he himself walked into a bed frame.

It went back and forth. Weeks passed, and all they did was prank each other until slowly things became less ‘slightly worse than subtle, discounting a few horrendous incidents’ and more ‘frenzied wild dog.’

Peter... was having fun. Even if he was still very confused.

He shouldn’t have been having fun. Usually his head was more in the clouds when he entered the dorm rather than anything else. 

Events tended to pass through his life with little fanfare unless he thought it interesting. 

It came to a point where’d he’d watch his shirts magically expand into a dress halfway through a class, or see his red curtains turn neon yellow out of the blue and he’d smile a little bit.

He was going mad.

(He was having fun anyway.)

..

A girl blushed as Peter passed, and he felt the familiar wave of confusion and discomfort.

..

He ducked around a hallway and waited a few seconds. No one followed after him, but he checked around a second time. He then walked past a wall a few times and rushed into the newly formed door.

The room inside was comfortable and small, with a single chair and a small fireplace. He immediately collapsed into the chair where he then ran his fingers through his hair.

He took a shallow breath and sat down more comfortably. In the room of requirement, he could be relaxed and not constantly awaiting the next prank. It was a refuge, one he took advantage of every month or so, but more frequently as of late. His go-to was usually the library, due to the bookish relaxing ambience, but the ROR was a close second.

(Peter had seen the marauders in the library and taken a strict U-turn earlier that day.)

Just as he leaned back with a thick book, a small crack sounded over the fireplace and he jolted back in shock. The portal circle thing again! It swirled for one second, two seconds, three seconds, then it closed with an even louder crack.

Fucking hell!

He gasped for air and spluttered. What the fuck? Why did they keep popping up? What _were_ they?

Oddly enough, tears built up around his eyes and he failed to breathe in properly, and he was left gasping for air — _why was he doing that, he could breathe just fine,_ why couldn’t he breathe just _fine_ it wasn’t like there was a _lack_ of oxygen. _Stop_.

Stop. _Stop_ , breathe. Breathe.

Why couldn’t he _breathe_? He held himself close.

Back. Forth.

Everything was okay. Everything was fine.

..

He walked into the kitchen and Ditzy dropped a plate of lasagna in front of him without saying a word.

..

Peter walked into the dorm, his head completely blank. Mechanically he walked towards his bed and absently brushed his hair, where he then slipped off his shoes and moved to sit down. Just as he was about to hit the covers, the bed moved a metre behind him and Peter landed on the floor. He winced at the crack noise from the bed, but otherwise didn’t react or comment. He stood up, moved a couple of steps and attempted to sit onto the bed again.

He massaged his butt absently after he once again found himself on the floor. He sighed.

Peter casually rubbed his eye to try and get rid of the feeling of having just cried earlier.

He was being dramatic. 

(That was fine. He didn’t care that he was too dramatic. He just wanted to go to sleep.)  
  


  
It was just. He didn’t understand the discs that kept popping up, and that _scared_ him. They hadn’t showed up in the original book series, and to have something follow him that he didn’t understand was overwhelming to him — it was like it was pointing fun of him, in a way.

In the corner of the room, the three boys hidden behind James’ bed exchanged odd looks. When Peter tried to sit onto his bed for the third time, it didn’t move.

Without getting changed, he curled up on the covers and shut his eyes closed. He didn’t bother to shut the curtains either.

Annoying portals? Daddy issues that were sky high? The fact he couldn’t study at the library that day and had to resort to his second choice? The fact he had no friends? The breathing attack thing he still didn’t understand? The fact that he hadn’t brushed his teeth after eating lasagna and was therefore a failure at absolutely fucking everything in life?

There was _too much._ But really, when was it not? His life was all the same. Inconveniences and him inevitably breaking down or getting tired. 

He just... there was too much. His mind was too busy and too _empty_ at the same time and he was so sick of it. He missed the days where he could just sit on his windowsill and watch the sunflowers, or when he could hide away in the corridors with a friend nearby — not that he needed one. It was just. Nice, to have one, he guessed. But he didn’t need one.

..

He walked into Hogsmead with a slightly red nose and thin gloves. It wasn’t that cold, Yule had passed a while back, but the slight remaining winter ambience remained. It was so fucking cheerful. If someone threw half-melted snow at him he was going to fucking materialise a small child and ditch it at them.

‘You can’t create small children’ one may argue. Well of course not. The only talent he had at transfiguration, or in magic at all, was in passing when he was younger. What he _could_ do was a summoning charm, and a _surprising amount of families visited Hogsmead._

(Despite the fact that Voldemort was practically ransacking the magical and muggle world.)

Voldemort was getting closer. He didn’t attack Hogwarts, just created disturbances around it. The school was practically divided, he’d heard many terrible rumours about Slytherins in the hallways and in the library.

(Honestly, the Slytherins needed to find a new place to hold their meetings. Peter wasn’t deaf. He could hear fucking everything. And no, Lucius — because he knew the guy’s name now, apparently — no one cared if your buttons were _imported from Taiwan_.)

It was a mystery as to why Hogsmead was open when Voldemort was at large. Which dumbass had decided on that?

Ah yes, Dumbledore. Smartest wizard his _shiny asscrack._

It was only a matter of time before the village got stormed. But, he doubted it would be that afternoon. Peter wandered through the melting snow and kicked a particularly round pebble down the path. It was loud, the clattering was unheard however, due to the fact that people were outrageously rowdy as per usual.

Peter walked through the village until it got quieter and more desolated. He found himself staring at the shrieking shack.

Sometimes he forgot Remus was a werewolf. It didn’t effect Peter, so he didn’t think about it more than in passing when he’d notice Remus’ bed was empty or something. Sirius and James has cottoned on to Remus’ condition by that point, but looking back Peter didn’t know when they had. One day chocolate had started to be at his bedside, and that was that. It had been earlier in the year, probably.

They were getting very secretive too. Pouring over a piece of parchment that they hid out of sight whenever Peter walked in. Peter was glad he had never made it a habit to knock, because sometimes he got a short glimpse and no one expected that _he_ suspected anything because he had never knocked before. When he didn’t knock, there was more of a chance to see things.

(No, that did not sound right. No, he didn’t care, because he knew what he meant.)

Of course he wanted to see bits of the map. The map was legendary!

Wind blew against the dry wood, creating an odd droning noise that sent a shiver down Peter’s spine. It was lonely. He was all alone, and by that point he was well and truly used to it. He didn’t know if he should’ve been proud of that or not.

He didn’t like being alone. But he didn’t mind being alone either. It was confusing.

(He liked being alone when it was by choice. Why was he so upset about it then? If he wasn’t alone by choice, then what was he? If he wanted to have friends, he would have been nicer to people. He was mean on purpose. Surely he should be okay then?)

Peter heard distant laughter, and froze in place. It mellowed out, and the wind covered the disturbance as if nothing had ever been there in the first place.

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

In, out.

(—breathe—)

In, out.

He rubbed his nose in a pitiful attempt to feel something other than cold, and started to wander down the snowy path away from the shack and the village. He heard an odd shuffling and turned to look behind him, but nothing was there.

Great, he was hearing things. Always a good sign.

He sneezed, and felt a bit embarrassed that it was so small and high-pitched.

(“You're such a fucking girl Peter.”)

Actually no, his sneeze was fine, what was there to be ashamed of in a sneeze just because it was high-pitched didn’t make it girly — and even if it was girly that didn’t mean that he was wrong, or disgusting, or terrible, because of it; why would he be ashamed of it — oh no just because of a silly little sneeze — nope he was fine, absolutely great, absolutely spiffy, oh was that a bench over there? Yes it was, he was just going to go over there and pretend that _nothing was happening in his head._

He wandered over and sat down on the wooden bench. Seeing as no one was around, he just crossed his legs on the wood instead of letting them drape down. He put his elbows on his knees and let his hands cradle his face. The wind battered the trees lightly, and he let the cool air drift over and calm him.

Crack.

Peter heard his neck click in response to how harshly he twisted to look behind himself. Nothing. It definitely sounded like those one of those portal things.

“Oh sure, you’re sane Peter.” He mumbled to himself, “yeah hearing things is perfectly normal, why wouldn’t it be?”

(He wasn’t hearing things. The portal disc thing had been there, he knew it. He could hear a thousand cracks and recognise the correct one that matched the portal thingies out of a lineup.)

He massaged his neck and relaxed back onto his knees, his breathing harder and faster than usual. Peter’s reaction wasn’t as bad as the last time. Maybe it came out of a sense of loss over the portal thingies, it was likely because he knew he’d never know what they were. It was probably some auror getting his kicks out of terrorising a Hogwarts student. Maybe he didn’t react too badly because he was so tired, because he was so awfully done with the world. He didn’t know. Some thoughts he had over them were contradictory, but in the end, he just didn’t care.

They’d been appearing more frequently. He remembered seeing them over winter break, albeit rarely, and occasionally out of the blue at school when he was alone. But he hadn’t seen them more than five or six times, that afternoon included.

The last two he had seen were in the same month.

(What did it mean? Why did he care? If they killed him, If some massive dragon appeared out of one and killed him, would he care? Probably not. Dead men don’t care.)

Ah. He noticed something in the half melted snow and felt his blood run a little faster.

“You know,” he said softly. “I’m well aware you have an invisibility cloak after that time you followed me to the kitchens.”

The space next to him was instantly occupied. The cloak dropped instantly. Sirius and James looked down at him.

“So! Pettigrew, what was that?” Sirius asked immediately. Peter hummed to himself at the lack of acknowledgement of stalking or apologies for doing so.

“I saw your footprints?”

“No. The... the purple thingy?”

Peter glanced up. “Oh, the disc thing?”

Sirius rolled his eyes and nodded pointedly.

So they had seen it. He wondered why sometimes he didn’t hear it appearing and other times he did — for example then, he had only heard it disappear. It was comforting to know it wasn’t a figment of his imagination, but he felt an odd sense of discomfort that people other than himself knew about it.

“Dunno.“

James frowned down his nose, and Peter got hit with a quick memory of a smaller James running after him with a happy, curious smile on his face, asking him question after question and practically tackling him at the chance to be his friend. The James now looked more jaded; more experienced and tired.

So the world had finally hit him in the face. Peter vaguely wondered who in his family had died.

“Hey, we asked you a question,” James sneered. “Only polite you answer.”

“Sorry. I’m honest, I dunno.”

He put his feet onto the ground, and let his body appear more relaxed. He didn’t feel relaxed, but that wasn’t important. If you looked the part, you might as well call yourself the part.

James surveyed him. “Fine. Why’re you out here then?”

“James!” Sirius hissed. “Don’t just let it go.”

“He doesn’t know, I can tell.” James whispered back in the same tone.

Peter wondered if he was being interrogated. Damn, maybe he really should have just stayed at Hogwarts. It begged the question; which out of the two of them was the good cop? They both looked like they wanted to curse his socks off.

He knew that because their wands were both pointed at him. Peter politely pretended not to notice.

Really, what was their deal? He wasn’t doing anything illegal. Not yet, that was for when he moved to Australia and started up a pot farm or something. But that plan only came into play if he couldn’t find his dream small apartment and in walking distance of a shopping centre. And, well. It’d come into play many years from then.

“I was tired?” Peter drawled slowly, subtly accusing them of being thick. “Wanted to go for a walk.”

He felt his face lose all hostility as a familiar wave of tiredness swept over him. Peter considered glaring at them, but instead fell back and draped his head against the side of the wooden chair. He breathed in and out deeply. “You know what? Go ahead,” he mumbled. “Give me horns or something. Just let me set an alarm, I’m going to sleep so...” His wand did a few choice motions.

He closed his eyes.

“You can’t be serious.” James, oddly enough, sounded more amused than annoyed.

“I’m tired,” he repeated again. “Very busy preparing for exams.” The exams were in five months. Peter was cold and slightly damp from the moisture in the air, but he tried to get comfortable anyway. His eyes were still closed when he heard and felt someone sliding onto the bench next to him.

“James!”

“I’m tired too.”

“James, he’s the enemy! He enlarged our shoes just last week!”

“I’m tired,” James shrugged. “This has all gone on long enough. I just want a nap,”

Peter hummed in silent stunned disbelief, yet still tried to get comfortable. Again, he was too tired to think things over.

Someone else joined the bench.

“I’d drape the cloak over us,” Sirius’ voice said, “but I feel as if that wouldn’t work well. It’s just not that warm. You’re a pain, James.”

“I’m _your_ pain.”

“That’s gay.”

“ _You’re_ gay.”

“Shut up, come closer and let me steal your heat.”

Peter let the cold wind taunt him as he tried for a comfortable sleeping position on the cold wooden bench.

The three boys curled up together, hostility waning in the cold air, and let the rustling leaves rock them to sleep.

..

“I still hate your guts,” Sirius said sternly three hours later. He stretched the cricks out of his shoulders and neck.

“Die in a hole,” Peter shrugged. He wandered off, slightly in front of them, and ignored the sight of his bag turning a disgusting shade of purple. Sirius’ wand dropped and the two boys overtook Peter.

“Fuck you,” James said half heartedly.

“Choke on a dick.”

They walked down the Hogsmead path and listened to distant laughter and talking.

“We’ll stop with the pranks.” Sirius announced once they were nearly out of hearing distance. “We’re tired too.”

Peter watched his long black hair flickering in the breeze. Sirius and James didn’t look back.

Peter felt a fragile flicker of warmth in his stomach. He cupped his mouth. “Fine.” He called for them, “still hate you though.”

They both flipped him off, and Peter recalled the time he had done it to them in the hallway that one fight many years ago.

They hated each other, sure. But for the moment they were at a comfortable standstill, and Peter was okay with that.

There was a war going on. Some things were more important than others.

..

It was the day before they went back for the summer, and Peter was sleeping outside near the lake. Not entirely asleep, he was relaxing more than anything. He curled up on the soft blanket he’d brought outside and pitched out under a tree, and listened to faint laughter and occasional loud swearing from other Hogwarts students. Eventually the seasons had gotten warmer, so he took advantage of it to take a well deserved nap.

Someone ran past him, the shadow blocked his sunshine, and he groggily raised himself onto his elbows. A small girl rushed across the grass, her eyes focused on her wrist, and she nearly collided with another small girl around the same age.

“You!” The first girl said, her blonde hair shifting in the breeze. “You!” She repeated.

The other small girl smiled widely, the cute smile raised her freckled cheeks up. “Me,” she grinned. “You found out?”

The small blonde girl held up her wrist and showed something to Freckles that only they could see. “You knew! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to be... imposing.”

“You could never be! You’re mine, I’m yours.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Freckles said softly, smile a bit smaller. Her voice barely carried over.

“I could never not be okay with that!”

Then they hugged, close and tight and as happy as could be. Peter smiled softly and relaxed back onto his blanket.

..

A Gryffindor rocketed to her feet at dinner, and practically stormed over to a seventh-year Ravenclaw. “It’s fucking you, you whore?”

McGonagall rose to her feet slowly with a sigh, but Dumbledore gave her a knowing look and put a hand on her shoulder, which made her sit back down.

“Don’t be such a bitch about it,” the Ravenclaw sniffed.

“What the fuck possessed you to send me fucking poetry instead of just telling it to me straight?”

“It was funny,” he shrugged. “It was also interesting to wonder when you’d figure it out.”

The Gryffindor growled and put her hands on her hips, “can’t fucking believe you did that for six years! Do you have no friends or something?”

The Ravenclaw hummed. “I was beginning to lose hope, if I’m being honest. You must be pretty stupid to miss some of the hints I put in there.”

“Dickhead!” She hissed.

“You liked it.”

Her face twisted a little bit, and a light blush showed on her tanned cheeks. She looked away and held her arm to her face briefly. “So,” she read. “‘For brashness never a lion compare, a cauldron a single lifeline, a life to share.’ That’s pretty sappy bullshit.”

The Ravenclaw turned bright red. “Hey, you’d run out of material too after six years!”

“Fucker.”

“Loser.”

She scratched the back of her head, and awkwardly looked to the side. With ease she ignored the hall staring at the two of them. She glanced up behind her eyelashes. “I’m glad it’s you, dumbass.”

The Ravenclaw smirked. “You better be.”

She met his eyes. Her face dropped, “you don’t feel the same way?”

The boy looked despairing, but smiled on fondly regardless.

“Maya. I wrote you poetry every week for _six years_. I think it’s pretty obvious that I feel the same way.”

They stared at each other in the eyes and quietly embraced each other in a slow and sweet kiss, and people from all over the room started to cheer. Peter could see a slither of writing on Maya’s sleeve, ‘a life to share’ standing out in white pen amongst dark brown skin.

‘Time a tickled temptress,’ it continued lazily down her elbow. ‘’Forever’ an urban myth; regardless, your cheeks a dazzling scarlet; a sight to behold and a sight to miss.’

“Thank Merlin,” one Gryffindor grinned nearby, “thought she’d never figure it out.”

..

His dad looked down his nose at Peter at the station. “Welcome, brat.” A few parents looked over, scandalised. Peter rolled his eyes and dragged the trunk behind him.

“Hey, dad.”

Peter walked forward without a second glance back at him, towards the beaten truck down in the parking lot.

“You’re such a girl, Peter.”

Yeah, yeah. He’d heard it before.

..

He looked down at his stomach. The sunflower was so faint that he had to be in certain lightings to see the outline. Sometimes he forgot what sunflowers looked like. It wasn’t a dramatic thing, he knew the middle was round and brown and the petals were yellow and orange, but he wouldn’t be able to recall the details for the life of him.

Were the petals pointed or oval shaped?

..

Stifling.

..

There was a constant pressure whenever he was home. It clung to his clothing and sank into his socks, practically revelling in the hot summer months. The sweat soon seemed more like a luxury than not — it reminded him of Australia and the hot summer months. At the time he had hated it and how his feet burnt on the pavement on the way to school and how the sun heated the car until the metal seat-belts left behind marks on his bare skin when he left, but looking back on it, it wasn’t _that_ bad.

Australia wasn’t a perfect place, but it had been the place he had called home and he _missed_ it.

Most days the house felt empty. Those were the good days and the bad days too. When it was empty, the pressure seemed heavier. He was alone and not alone at the same time, and he was sick of it. When he left to go to the shops he had to look all around to make sure Lockhart wasn’t near him. House-elf killer McGee just didn’t seem to be fun potential company.

He missed Hogwarts, even with the blank looks and cold dormmates. He missed Ditzy and the days she let him talk and talk and talk until he walked to his bed with a sore throat and a lighter heart. He missed the classes that took up all his time, and he missed the magic and the feeling of freedom.

He didn’t want to think about home. Even when he was there.

(It was... silence and yelling, burning summer heat and regret and a crippling sense of loneliness.)

His bed, the same one from long ago, was too small for him, and his feet dangled over the end. Peter eyed the grubby window, too dirty to see through, and watched the silhouette of a particularly fat bug wander over the surface.

One day. One day he’d be far from there. Somewhere nice and homely and _small and easy to care for and full of options and entertainment and optional solitude._ He smiled.

Maybe then the constant pressure wouldn’t remain. Maybe then it’d fade in the wind or be cast into the garbage, just like his mum’s sunflowers those many, many years ago.

..

Gardening.

Crack.

Fear, spiked adrenaline. Silence.

No more gardening.

..  
  


Fourth year.

Silence and comfort. Hiding from roommates, lounging in the ROR.

Over.

..

Fifth year.

..

“Pettigrew,” Lily greeted succinctly.

“Evans.”

She passed over his timetable and didn’t spare him a second glance.

..

Alice glared at him as he walked through the common room to the door. He never did like being in the common room, but especially after two years ago, for some reason Alice had taken to hating the ground he walked on; so he liked being there even less.

The portrait hole opened just as Peter was within four metres of it, and Sirius stepped in with his arms over the shoulder’s of Remus and James, who were both smiling as if it were their wedding days. Peter casually redirected his path to a comfortable chair nearby.

“Well, Gryffs, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” Sirius announced, and drew everyone’s attention. All three dug into their pockets and withdrew bottles.

“That’s...” someone trailed off, aghast.

“Firewhiskey,” Remus smugly said, “and nothing but the finest.”

Lily gasped, outraged. “You’re not of age! How did you get it?”

“That’s a secret, Evans dear,” Sirius winked. James smiled at her brightly.

Peter opened a book he had conveniently on his figure. He listened to the conversation and waited for when they’d stop blocking the portrait hole. Oh sure, he could go and ask them to move, but that required _way_ more energy than he wanted to give. Talking wasn’t that bad compared to sitting aimlessly for a couple of minutes, but was it?

“Someone ought to tell McGonagall,” Lily insisted, determined enough to follow through with the rules but not to the extent of pinning the respectful term ‘Professor’ in front of McGonagall.

“Minnie would be proud,” James grinned.

Merlin, they were meant to be. Peter flipped a page.

“‘Minnie,’” Lily drew out, “would be pissed.”

Remus winked, “ah, but she won’t find out, will she?”

Lily frowned.

“It would be a shame,” Sirius sidled up to her while Remus and James watched, “for someone to tell the house-elves that you really really like banana pie.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Banana cereal?”

“Black.”

“Banana fudge? Banana omelette? I’m sure you’d love to have bananas for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

“I swear to Merlin, Black, if you do that I will —“

“Not tell on us to the Professor,” Remus interrupted.

“Goes for the rest of you, too,” James said cheerfully.

A seventh year barked out teasing laughter, “what if you like bananas?”

“Babe,” his boyfriend whined.

James winked at them, “I know for a fact that you hate liquorice, Brady, so we’d mention that instead.”

James knew everyone in Gryffindor. Peter, admittedly, was impressed by that. He knew them all personally enough to list their likes and dislikes. He was a really social individual.

“You whore,” the seventh year laughed affectionately. “Well that’s a shame, I guess no one will be telling on you then. Have fun with the whiskey guys, but make sure to have a glass of cold water nearby in case your throats get too hot.”

“Hey!” Lily turned to face the seventh year, astounded. “It’s against the rules!”

“Let them live,” the boyfriend said. “In times like these...”

In times like these. Peter absently put his hand through his curls and breathed in deeply. In, out.

She understood that, like everyone did. “Fine.”

The boys cheered.

Peter was about to stand up to go to through the portrait hole, because they had finally (finally!) moved out of the way, but he noticed too late that Sirius was heading his way, and couldn’t dodge the hand that clasped onto his shoulder.

James was being loud and trying to impress Lily again, so no one was looking their direction other than Remus. Peter was confused, so he made to open his mouth but Remus shook his head and they both took him up to the dormitory.

They marched him in and Peter felt his stomach drop in anxiety. The door opened and closed again seconds later, and James wandered in with a serious face.

“What?” Peter hesitated, and looked at the window briefly before staring at Sirius who was right in front of him. “I didn’t do something again did I?”

“We’re going to put this simply,” Sirius said slowly, the playful persona from earlier no longer visible. “Two years ago, we made a map.”

Peter knew that, so why the fuck were they telling him? From what he remembered, it was top secret and limited only to the marauders, and although he had been a marauder in the original story and therefore had access, he didn’t now. There was no reason as to why they’d tell him, they were definitely not friends

“Alright?”

Remus continued, “at first it didn’t work but now... well, it’s a great piece of magic, if I have to say so myself. It shows secret passageways and footsteps and people... and we charmed it ourselves, so we know for a fact that it shows the truth and it can _only_ show the truth. So, Peter, if that’s the case...”

James dug into his pocket, whispered something, and extended it in front of him. He pointed to their dorm, to their four stationary figures, and Peter felt his stomach drop in horror.

Sirius cleared his throat. “So then, Peter, if that’s even who you are. Why does it say that your name’s Mary?”

..

Haha, shit.

..

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck — that didn’t make sense, he was born as Peter so by all means he _should_ have been Peter. 

He _could_ blame it on a glitch in the enchanting but what were the chances of that? Mary was... Mary had once been his name. But he wasn’t Mary, not anymore, he was Peter Pettigrew and he had given into that a long time ago so there was no way he was still Mary. He didn’t feel like Mary. He felt like Peter, because that was who he was.

“I don’t know,” he lied. “Maybe my parents were religious.” Mary and Peter were both Christian names.

Remus glared at him, “you’re lying. You know. You’ve got a tell.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m not stupid enough to tell you.”

“And I’m not stupid enough to tell any of you anything either.” Peter snapped. “So what? So what if I do know. Why do you even care? I don’t owe you anything and fuck, even if I did I wouldn’t tell you because I don’t want to!”

Sirius ignored him and continued in a low voice, “we know you’re not transgender,” he said. “Christa from Ravenclaw doesn’t have her dead name, and I don’t think you’re... you’re not a girl, right?”

(“You’re such a girl, Peter.”)

“I’m a boy. Fuck you!” He felt like a cat being backed into a corner, so he lashed out. “So what if it’s Mary? I’m Peter, I was born Peter and so I am!”

Sirius and James looked at Remus, who subtly nodded to confirm.

“There’s obviously something wrong with your map,” Peter continued in a chilling tone.

“There’s not,” James chirruped. “We checked, a couple times! You know what’s wrong, so tell us. C’mon, it’s not a big deal or anything.”

“ _Sure_ it’s not. But I don’t give a shit if it’s not a big deal to _you_ , _I’m_ not telling you anything.”

“Why’re you Mary?” Sirius pressed straightforwardly.

“I’m Peter.”

“Also the truth,” Remus muttered, bewildered. “You don’t have multiple personalities or identities or... uh, do you?”

“No.”

“Yep, true too.”

Peter grit his teeth. Calm down, it wasn’t a big deal, calm down.

Calm down.

  
He rose to his feet, slightly trembling, and stormed over to the door. “It’s none of your business,” he hissed. “Don’t ask again. I’m allowed to keep secrets!”

“Well yeah, but this one can’t matter that much can it, right Mary? C’mon, we just want to improve the map!” James insisted.

Peter aimed his wand at him and gave him a wedgie. Peter ran out the door before he could be cursed back.

..

Why did he react like that?

Peter quickly jogged through the common room and finally exited, where he made an immediate turn to the kitchens.

When Peter was younger, he sometimes referred to himself as a girl. But that was when he was _really_ young, back when mum was still alive and he knew thinking things like that wouldn’t have consequences. Back when things hadn’t clicked yet — it was acting on a habit he didn’t understand, a habit that came from seemingly nowhere.

In his head, he was both Mary and not. He grew up confused, with a life that shouldn’t have been there; there. Everything was mixed together, memories weren’t in chronological order, things were... confusing.

But... he got older, things burned, and he realised that he wasn’t Mary, not anymore. He couldn’t be Mary. Mary had long black hair and green eyes, Mary had an open and warm personality and a kind mum and a neglectful older brother and a habit to daydream in class about small fluffy animals in bow ties.

Mary was free, Mary was slightly upset with the world and jaded but she continued on regardless with the brightest, genuine personality she could muster and eventually he realised that that wasn’t him.

Mary liked to eat lasagna when times got hard. It was her favourite food. When Peter tried it for the first time, he had spat it all out. It tasted terrible. Yet even after he spat it out, he felt better than before he had eaten it. So when it was available, he ate it anyway.

Maybe he _was_ Mary. Maybe he kept the same soul, which seemed likely if souls did exist. But... he _wasn’t_ , he couldn’t possibly be. When he was reborn, he started to think about things differently.

He liked staring out windows and watching sunsets, he liked standing up for himself and doing what wasn’t right but what was necessary. Mary could do none of those things.

Mary wasn’t selfish, she was kind and open and so by all means Peter _wasn’t_ _her_.

He was reborn with many new qualities, and if one of those new qualifies was his gender then _so what?_ He was a boy.

He used to be a girl, but that changed. That was that.

He didn’t hate Mary, but he realised that she wasn’t who he wanted to be, even if he still shared and admired some personality traits and quirks.

(But then mum died, who’s fault was that? — And dad let it be known that any feminine qualities that remained had to be purged.)

Peter always liked long hair, like Mary. They both liked flowers and the smell of fallen rain, they liked dancing in their underwear to the sound of the neighbours’ music late at night with no one to watch, they liked the sound of cheerful laughter and hot baths and nice smelling soaps and painted nails and fluffy gowns and pastel artwork and he felt... off, when he realised that his dad hated that he had those qualities, when before his family would affectionately tease him.

(Dad had two categories for everything. Feminine and girly, or masculine and manly. He sorted everything into two boxes, even if Peter couldn’t understand the reasoning behind most things. After a while, Peter had started to do it too, he started to categorise and avoid certain behaviours and to get mad about being called certain names and he hated it, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it, he hated it he hated it he hated it he —)

Things had _changed_ — it was how the world worked. It was how it was, and Peter had always hated that.

Who was his dad to dictate what feminine qualities remained? Who was his dad to yell and scream and berate and threaten him when he realised that Peter didn’t represent a typical, manly, stereotypical boy as much as others did — as others, like Sirius and James and Remus and hell, Snape did.

You know what? His dad wasn’t important.

He... he wasn’t Mary. He was Peter. If that map had him as Mary, then what did that mean? Did that mean that he was forever doomed to be Mary, when he felt and smelt and heard and saw and tasted things so differently then before? Even then?

He was different. In his mind, Mary was a different category, a forgotten memory he sometimes rarely recalled. In his mind, Mary was both important and unimportant and that had always been factual and who did his roommates _think they were to suggest he was Mary?_

He was _Peter_! He breathed the _air_ as Peter, and walked through the _market_ as Peter, he struggled and he yelled and he _sweated_ as Peter and...

Peter was no longer the young girl with long black hair, with the open and warm personality, with the kind mum and neglectful older brother. He didn’t dream about cute animals.

Peter... he had many secrets, and Mary was one of them.

She would always be a secret. He had many, and if he wanted them to stay a secret then for _fucks sake they deserved to stay as a secret_! And to yank him out of his day and _demand_ answers from him about something so _personal_ , meant to be _his_ , meant to _ground_ him and _comfort_ him and...

Fuckers.

That map. That fucking map, that claimed it showed only the truth.

It was a lie.

(The sweet little girl was well and truly corrupted by who he _became_ , her future was well and truly ripped from her. She was no longer. Mary was no longer. It was Peter, and only Peter.)

Peter tickled the pear and practically slammed the door behind him.

..

That time, he didn’t eat the lasagna for comfort. He ate it as a statement.

He was not her.

She was his, and he was not her. Peter was his second chance, his second being.

(Peter was himself, with his own mind and memories and very self. And if he did things that reflected what Mary would have done; that was fine, because in the end, if he said he was Peter, than he was. Did it really matter, anyway?)

..

When his dad started to use insults more often, or brag and go through with other arguably questionable behaviour more, some of that started to become rooted into Peter’s mind as ‘normal.’ So he overlooked some things, and when he mirrored his dad, he thought things like ‘at least it wasn’t this,’ or ‘at least it wasn’t that.’ It could have been worse.

So if he said something sexist, deep down he knew it was bad, in his head he knew it was bad, but it _could have been worse_. Take any person to his house, and they’d see that Peter could have been. _Much_ more terrible, _much_ more vulgar and _much_ more rude.

Peter was doing his best to filter it out, but he couldn’t win it all.

(He avoided feminine behaviour and mannerisms because it was easy. Because that was what he knew, because that rooted him further away from the idea of Mary and reconstructed him as Peter, a new revolutionary figure who was stronger and _better_ than ever. Because... because he was... he didn’t know.)

..

“Sorry,” Remus said as Peter folded his newly washed pillowcase later that afternoon. It was still maroon. “I don’t really get it but... yeah, sorry.”

“You’ll leave me alone?”

He met eyes with his friends silently.

“Okay.”

“Alright, then.”

They turned away to their seperate corners of the dorm.

“Will you ever tell us why?” Sirius asked.

He grit his teeth. “Maybe. In a long, long time.”

(Never.)

..

He stared into the mirror. In his left hand, he held a shaking tube of black nail polish.

(Peter ended up curled in on himself, whispering to himself to get up and telling himself to hide the bottle and his head _yelled_ and _screamed_ and he heaved and _heaved and he cried because he didn’t used to be like that_ , he used to be—)

..

He _needed to be_ Peter. He needed to cast people out, because if he didn’t, he would die. He needed to be _mean_ and _stand up for himself,_ because he wouldn’t be treated like a follower, like dirt.

He would be selfish, because he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to be anything else. So what if people hated him for it? They could go fuck off!

Self-preservation. Selfishness, manliness. All words, all had arguments and tears and sweat behind them. _Complicated_.

Halloween approached and the general mood of the castle got jollier. Peter clawed at his own throat and looked into the bathroom mirror in disgust, all the while aching and trembling and heaving because what he did he accomplish in getting this far?

He treated others like dirt, and he soon enough he became it.

Oh how Mary would have laughed at that. Mary would have forgiven him and held him close, she’d have rubbed his back and comforted him. She’d have understood.

(So much for understanding. Of course _she_ understood, but he wasn’t Mary anymore.)

Maybe Mary _was_ Peter. Corrupt and ruined.

Alone.

(Did he ever like being alone? He told himself he did but...)

(Peter was the first to admit that he was a liar. The biggest liar in the world.)

..

Peter sat on a seat next to a window on the seventh floor. It was calming to watch the world go past, to spot the students down below laughing and playing, chasing each other and occasionally pulling small animals along.

His frog had passed away.

  
  


It wasn’t like it was a big animal or anything but... Peter had liked him. He was a good frog, never too loud, always doing its best.

A good frog. He had honestly expected him to last past fifth year. But two years was _long_ , he guessed.

Peter leaned his head partially on the window, and hummed softly as the people went by below. He felt... something. He shouldn’t have cared, it was such a small animal but he _did_ care. He cared a _lot_ , and it _hurt_.

“Pettigrew?”

It wasn’t the time for people to approach him. Go away.

Go _away_.  
  


He didn’t reply.

“Right. Why’re you up here?”

He didn’t turn around to look at her. His forehead felt a little bit cold against the glass. “Why is everyone always questioning me?” He mumbled to himself, half hoping she’d hear.

Peter raised his voice for her. “Should I apologise for _this_ too?”

Evans huffed. “Go fuck yourself. If you understood friendships then you’d _understand_.”

Merlin he was so tired.

“Then I guess I don’t understand.”

“You know you’re in the wrong, don’t you? That’s why you’re not yelling at me right now.” Or maybe because it was early in the morning. Apparently he wasn’t the only one in a bad mood, he wondered if something had happened to her recently. Nothing _he_ knew about.

He flipped around, his vision slightly blurry. “Well shit, my bad.”

Her nostrils flared, and Peter could almost see a wire visibly snap. “Oh piss off, Peter. Ever heard of empathy? You know you’re _wrong_ and you’re not even _apologising_. You really didn’t care about us! It’s not about you sticking up for us, it was _never_ about that. It was about you _caring_ for once in your fucking _life_.”

“Oh I’m so _sorry_ , your highness. Is the fact that people aren’t _bowing down_ for you ruffling your _feathers_? Should I play _sad flute music for you?_ ” Peter really didn’t feel like arguing with Lily. He was so tired and lonely and furious — not just at the world, but at himself. But, well. Self defence and all that.

Lily drew in a long and unstable breath. Her shoulders rose up, and her cheeks turned a furious red. “Fuck you!” She hissed, pure unadulterated venom, and Peter jolted back in shock. “Fuck you, fuck all of you! Everyone is so fucking selfish! I have problems too, you know? I’m a muggleborn in a wizarding world, and you think that’s not hard, you think that I believe that I’m a _princess_ and — and _perfect_? Why do you people think my life is _perfect_? It’s fucking _not_!”

Ah, Peter thought to himself silently. Lily wasn’t necessarily just yelling at him; she was also yelling at Hogwarts and the wizarding world too. Peter just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Well alright, he said the wrong thing as well. Whatever.

“My sister _hates_ me, did you know that? She doesn’t look me in the _eyes_ , she’s _disgusted_ by me! We used to be so _close_ , and then thanks to... to _magic_ , she _despises_ me and _ridicules_ me and don’t you think I’m fucking _struggling_? Just because your life’s so hard doesn’t mean that everyone else isn’t going through hard shit. So why don’t you shove that down your throat and choke on it?”

“Thanks for sharing,” Peter quietly monotoned. Lily was visibly straining her bright red ears to hear. Her eyebrows were in a light ‘v’ shape. Anger radiated out of every pore. “Why don’t I do it _too_? Then you’ll see how _bloody uncomfortable I am._ Let’s see,” he said, “my soulmate is _dead_.” He crossed his arms vacantly and looked up at her, unimpressed.

“Mum’s _dead_ , dads an _asshole_ , people are _assholes_ , I’m an _asshole_ — are you uncomfortable yet? Hm, that’s just it. You don’t _care_ , do you? Say what you will, but you _don’t_. It’s just like how _I don’t give a shit about your life either._ I don’t fucking care, and I _never will._

“Yeah you’re right, the world _does_ treat you like shit. So _what_? Why do _I_ care? _I_ only care about _myself_ , isn’t that what you said? What’s the point of telling all of this to _me_? Do you expect _me_ to _do_ something about it? Do you expect me to _apologise_ , to _lie_ and say that _everything will be okay_?”

Lily stared him in the eyes, and didn’t hesitate to reply. “Guess what, Peter?” She shook her head in disappointment, riding the high of the moment, ready to kick him to the ground like, in her opinion, he truly deserved — “you’re so much like dirt that I don’t give a shit about anything you’d have to say anyway.” She walked away then, gait high and unbridled by anxieties.

Peter raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, and rested his head back against the glass.

He never had picked out a name for his frog, had he?

..

  
  
  


Peter looked out one of the windows a week after the encounter to see James suspending Snape in mid air. Peter smiled to himself.

..

(Peter walked into the common room and glimpsed a crying Lily huddled close to Alice. He wandered over and ignored Alice’s glare. He smirked.

“ _Where’s your_ empathy _now?_ ”

Peter should have felt guilty for the large smile that appeared on his face as he walked up the steps to his dorm, but he _wasn’t in the slightest_.

He wasn’t sorry for a lot of things, so he bid the day a good day, and that was that.)

..

  
  


Weeks passed.

..

Lily started to hang around more with the marauders, which meant he was sent glares more often than not. The day they were to take her to hang out in their dorm, Peter was going to put his foot down and curse them all to have antlers for the rest of their life.

But, fortunately, they weren’t showing up in the dorm as much as they used to be. Peter suspected they had found somewhere more remote and private to hang out. It was great, he had more moments he could stand in the centre of the room and just take everything in.

Peter had ordered a guitar in the post, and he finally got a chance to sit down and play it. Mary had been fantastic at playing the guitar, and so Peter decided he wanted to try it too. He didn’t have the same limbs, or the same muscle memory, but he had an idea of what he was meant to do.

He strummed a few times and readjusted it in his arms a couple more, and a whole song later he was wiping a tear from his eye.

Peter grinned as he looked down at it. Yeah, he was _awful_.

..

Oh fuck he replaced his _frog with a guitar —_

..

Peter eyed the nail polish, raised it up... and placed it on the sink. He stared, but it didn’t move, so he looked up into his reflection and watched the slightly distorted fog-covered mirror show his bare shoulders and the towel wrapped around his waist.

It wasn’t a big deal, just put it on. It was fine. It was...

He opened the lid, shut his eyes tight and tried to aim for his hand. His palm felt wet rather than the tips of his nails.

(“Peter, you’re such a —“)

He vomited in the sink.

..

Peter woke up to the sound of four people laughing, and he felt his stomach fill with dread. It finally happened.

“She’s practically your mum now, Sirius,” James snorted. “We’ve _adopted_ you. You’re an honorary Potter.”

“Sounds nice,” Sirius reflected peacefully. “We’re a big, happy family and Remus is our yappy chihuahua.”

“Oi.”

Lily tutted, “he wouldn’t make for a very _good_ chihuahua.”

“Oi. Hey now. _Hey_. No, I’d be _fantastic_. I’ve got everything built in.”

“Like what?” She teased, “a case of very fluffy bed head?”

“I guess so,” Remus teased. “Along with a very striking personality.”

Sirius coughed. “Don’t know what chihuahua’s you’ve seen.”

James laughed quietly. “How do you even pronounce chihuahua? It’s like one of those names you think you know and then the real pronunciation hits you decades later in the face, like ‘cha-hah-hah.’”

“Stop talking James,” Remus pleaded. “That’s terrible.”

“To ‘hua’ or not to ‘hua,’” James continued, “that is the question.”

Lily’s voice arose, full of apprehension and surprise. “You know Shakespeare?”

“The guys been popping up on my arm for years. It’d be a miracle if I didn’t know him. I swear he becomes visible in finer detail every time he pops up, just look, wait.” The sound of a sleeve being pulled up, “there he is!”

“Of _all_ things, _that_ is there all the time,” Sirius pondered aloud.

Lily sounded pleased, “I could say the same about boobs.”

“Hey!” James squeaked, “I thought we both recognised that that was Sirius’ fault.”

A sound of clothing moving. “Oh hey, look!” She laughed, and James died a bit inside. Sirius and Remus choked on laughter.

A brief silence.

“Boobs.”

“Sirius! I swear to Merlin —“

Remus cackled, “you’re matching.”

Peter bid the day an inevitable misery and rolled back over to go to sleep.

..

The house-elves rushed around cooking sweets and other goods. Ditzy tittered past with a stack of plates in her hands. She jolted to a stop when she spotted him. Other elves rushed around her stationary figure while yelling at each other and narrowly dodging pots and pans.

“Misters Pettigrew! Why’s is you not at the feast?”

He massaged his shoulder absently, “I don’t want to deal with... people.”

“We’d don’t have lasagna today.” She said sternly, “we’s too busy to cook it.”

Peter watched an elf run into the edge of a table and winced. “That’s alright. Do you guys need any help? I’m pretty good in the kitchen.”

Several elves looked scandalised, but Ditzy in all her motherly house-elf wisdom smiled accommodatingly and agreed. “If Misters Pettigrew feels up to it. There’s some dishes we’s can’t reach.”

He looked to the left and saw three elves stacked on top of each other trying to reach the edge of a frying pan.

“Can’t you magic it down?” He asked, already standing up and walking over to it.

“Oh noes, is a busy day and we’s need to preserve energy.”

Personally, Peter thought using magic would take less energy than climbing up two friends and sitting on their heads, but whatever. He stepped on the tips of his toes, and managed to grab the handle and bring it down.

“Anything else?”

Ditzy pointed to a large variety of pots and pans on higher shelves. He blinked slowly and walked over to the second one he could see.

“If you’re all so small, why do you have shelves that you can barely reach?”

“Ah, yes. Misters Dumbledore is a wise wise man, with talents of many things but designing is... not one of them.”

..

Peter noticed Sirius staring at Snape from across the great hall.

“How long?” Peter asked. He stabbed a potato and politely ignored the way Sirius jumped at the sound of his voice. They had ended up next to each other somehow, and Peter didn’t exactly make a habit of talking to people so Sirius was reasonably surprised.

“‘How long,’ what?”

He nodded to Snape’s figure, isolated at the Slytherin table, playing around with his soup, a spoon perched daintily in his hand.

“How long’ve you fancied him?”

Sirius picked up his glass and studiously ignored looking up again, his friends’ attention taken up in their own conversation. He scrunched up his nose.

Peter hummed and accepted the lack of reply, but just as a piece of potato was about to enter his mouth, Sirius opened his mouth.

He hesitated, closed it slightly and then finally muttered a reply. “The fact that we ended up in that same carriage... it wasn’t an accident.”

“So, for a while.”

“I was jealous of his long hair at the train station first year, so. Always.” Sirius sipped his pumpkin juice, slipped on a smile and turned to James to playfully make fun of him. They all laughed, and Peter felt a section of himself crack.

..

(“Just because your life’s so hard doesn’t mean that everyone else isn’t going through hard shit. So why don’t you shove that in your throat and fucking choke on it?”)

..

He heard a familiar crack, and he recognised it with a single sigh. Another crack. Gone.

Peter walked to his next class and listened to people stuttering, spluttering, gasping and whispering.

“What was that?”  
  


He continued to walk forward, and didn’t look back.

..

Crack. Crack crack crack, crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

He gasped and floundered for air, and opened his eyes to the empty foreboding silence of the room of requirement.

Empty.

Crack... Crack.

He swallowed.

..

“Lupin.” Peter walked slightly faster than usual down the hallway. Remus turned around, tired and peeved, and raised a honeyed eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

Peter reached him, and searched in his over the shoulder bag to retrieve some parchment. “Here, you missed this yesterday.”

Remus took the syllabus, handwritten by McGonagall and no doubt copied again and again over the years to make up for the lack of printers in the wizarding world.

He smiled. “Right, thanks Mary.” Peter felt his ears get a little bit hot in discomfort.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Remus kept on smiling, and turned around to go back to the common room. Peter was also planning to go to the common room, but since it would feel like he was following Remus, which would feel awkward, he made his way to the library instead.

Peter was tired of his dorm mates. Before he had tolerated them and they had tolerated him in return, because there was little choice in the matter, but then they brought along Lily and — honestly didn’t they realise they had to ask him before they did those things because he felt himself die a little inside every time they brought her. He liked his privacy.

He didn’t like Lily.

She was _annoying_ and loud, righteous and... right. About a couple of things. And he hated that, where was Peter’s awareness of the world, where was Peter’s ability to argue and where was Peter’s ability to be _free_ and comfortable and _happy_ — he was jealous, definitely jealous, and he recognised that, but that didn’t change the fact that he _didn’t like her._

His roommates were annoying because they kept bringing her and forcing him to think about her, when he was happy just standing in dirty clothes that weren’t put in the wash for two weeks while he jabbed at something on the ground with a small stick like a caveman. 

To clarify, that was a joke.

Peter was nearly to the library when he had an epiphany. He span around to go to the kitchens.

He didn’t like his roommates.

Obviously.

They had an agreement to not prank each other, or at least not prank each other very hard considering the whole ‘our friends and families may or may not be possibly taking part in a war or die’ and all that.

The agreement had been going strong for a while. It was only right that he played around with it a bit. Surely their morals needed to be lifted.

“Ditzy.”

“Yes, Misters Pettigrew?”

“You don’t have any pot, per chance?”

..

Apparently they did. He decided not to question it.

..

He aimed for the Gryffindor dormitories.

While it didn’t warrant the best self preservation, it was a good enough prank to make up for it. He stared at his gloves and frowned. He didn’t like using the word _prank_ , it made him feel like he was five. The _first_ time he was five, anyway. When he was five as _Peter_ , he was doing ‘cool adult stuff’ like brooding on his parent’s successive abandonment and his fear of commitment.

It was the second quidditch match of the year, and for the first time in ever, Peter was there to spectate. He planned on Gryffindor winning. To showcase this he wore a red scarf and stared at the pitch with a worrying intensity.

“Pettigrew?”

“Just call me Peter, Lupin.”   
  


Lupin awkwardly gave him a look that made clear the fact that Lupin would _not_ call him Peter.

Remus sat next to him due to the lack of open seats. Peter shuffled over and buried himself in his scarf. It wasn’t that cold, only a bit chilly, but he liked it because he used his dad’s money for it back in July while he was supposed to be grocery shopping. It was only a small act of defiance, but it felt good either way.

“Didn’t know you liked Quidditch.”

“Oh, you know.” Building an alibi, “the weathers nice.”

“I suppose.”

They waited patiently for the match to start, and Peter inwardly chanted for it to end quickly. He didn’t like sports, much to his dad’s ire. He picked at his nails, not painted, and watched some people run around on the pitch to organise things.

Lily waved goodbye to her friends and sat on the other side of Remus. “I wonder who’s going to win,” she exclaimed, “I’m half hoping Potter won’t win so that his head won’t inflate even more.”

“You’re going to have quidditch things on your mark for the next two weeks, if he loses.”

“I’ll have ‘ _quidditch things_ ’ there either way.”

Remus laughed. “That’s true.”

The players walked onto the field, and Peter sat back, warm and prepared for the long haul.

“If you had our sort of mark,” Lily said, “I wonder what your soulmate would have there. Books, probably.”

“Probably.”

Peter snorted. 

It’d probably be something like a dung-bomb, or it’d go between pranking items. It amazed him as to how people still thought Remus was a saint; somehow, he’d even gotten the prefect badge! Remus was usually sneaking around as much as his friends, he was just better at _hiding_ it.

“We didn’t ask for your opinion,” Lily muttered.

Peter shrugged. “Didn’t offer it.”

“Of course, and that snort was you laughing at someone on the pitch.”

Someone conveniently fell over.

Peter fidgeted with his scarf, “yep. Absolutely hilarious.”

“You’re horrible.”

Remus pursed his lips. “Calm down, the match is starting.”

“Fine,” Lily snapped. “But he needs to know that he’s not as great as he thinks he is. He’s almost as bad as Potter.”

“And that ‘almost,’” Peter said, “is what keeps me sane.” Merlin _bless_.

“Tell him that he’s not a comedian.”

Remus hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything.

“Peak maturity, Evans.”

“Tell Peter he’s an _annoyance.”_

“Tell Evans to suck a mountain _of massive_ —“

“Hello _everybody_! How is everyone going this _fine_ morning?” The commentator said loudly; his voice boomed across the stadium, “our match is the long awaited Gryffindor verses Ravenclaw game! _Who will win?_ _I’m_ not sure, but with Gryffindor’s star chaser and Ravenclaw’s fantastic seeker, it’s _guaranteed_ to be a good match.”

The crowd cheered, and Lily pointedly snubbed Peter to join in. She waved a small banner she had hand-drawn, with the words ‘Gryffindor for the win’ written across it. Peter wondered if she had exchanged her potential personality for her bright hair colour in the womb.

‘Gryffindor for the win.’ How exciting Lily, no, _really_.

“And McElroy goes for the quaffle, oh look he’s dipping what’s he doing — ah, he kissed his girlfriend isn’t that just _sweet_ and also sort of _gross_ , dude you’re in a _match_ could you _not_? Anyway, McElroy grabs the quaffle, Davies goes for it and oh! Potter comes in from the rear!”

Gryffindor cheered loudly, and Peter noticed Remus sporting goosebumps on his bare legs. Maybe Remus exchanged common sense for brain cells, because he definitely didn’t have both. It wasn’t _cold_ cold, but it was still _somewhat_ cold.

“And he scores! Look at that, five minutes in, that’s got to be a record!”

Peter half-heartedly clapped along with some third years in front of him, and ignored the students practically rioting around the stadium. Someone stomped their feet on his seat, and Peter felt any entertainment die along with the lost comfortable position on the metal bench.

“Black hits the bludger, Torren grabs the quaffle and races for the other side of the pitch and oh wow, Potter’s going for it and — look at that! I think Ravenclaw’s seeker’s seen the snitch!”

He didn’t see the snitch. Peter could tell, the seeker was looking in Peter’s direction and so he was nearly a hundred percent sure he was just looking at a bird.

This was around the time Peter zoned out.

Peter fidgeted with some loose threads in his red scarf, and rubbed his red nose in an effort to fight the cold.

He looked at someone doing schoolwork in the corner, and thought of the letters that always arrived for the students. Always in massive hoards unless on Easter holidays, always containing at least one ministry sealed one. The ministry letters appeared more and more these days.

There was _always_ one. Peter wondered what he’d do if _he_ got a letter. He knew he probably wouldn’t; his dad was a very isolated muggle in a small town, frankly it was astounding that he happened to live near Lockhart; so the chance of wizards killing him let alone finding his corpse was slim to none.

“And Potter scored!” The commentator cheered, no doubt siding with Gryffindor for the match. The crowd cheered and bellowed out encouragement.

“Davies’ bird soulmark is chasing after the bludger! Is that allowed? Actually, why hasn’t anyone tried that before? Oh wait, McGonagall says they have!” There was a brief pause. “Apparently it resulted in a couple of deaths — and Davies has the quaffle, he passes to McElroy who passes to Bradman who passes it back to —“

Peter noticed Remus shivering and rolled his eyes. He peeled off his scarf, which he then threw over Remus’ lap. “Give it back after,” he squinted in annoyance. “You’re distracting.”

“I’m very distracting,” Remus said solemnly, but kept it over his legs. He must’ve been very cold if he didn’t even protest.

Would the original Pettigrew have done that? Probably. Pettigrew worshipped the ground the marauders walked on, forever a rat of a man who’s only purpose in the series was to be subservient. Peter was glad that he wasn’t the same. 

(Because he wasn’t. He wasn’t the same.)

The commentator suddenly cackled. “The soulmark got hit in the face! Davies is grabbing his testicles! Did that just transmit the pain? Ouch, that’s gotta hurt. That must be why players don’t do it that often. Oh Davies, by the way I think I should mention that Melissa Hopkirk from... Hufflepuff, was it? Yeah, Hufflepuff has the same soulmark and yes McGonagall I’m sorry please don’t take away the microphone.”

“You’ve found her?” Davies yelled out from the pitch, his voice carrying over. “See me after the match!”

“Stop using the game for personal matters,” McGonagall said sternly into the mic. The Gryffindor commentator turned a bit pink and took back the mic once it was offered back, shyly. Then he started talking again, and any shyness disappeared.

“Good for Davies,” Lily smiled. “I see him in the library sometimes, he’s a nice guy.”

Peter rolled his eyes and sat back again.

..

The Gryffindor party raged on in the common room, the marauders helpfully distributed alcohol to minors. While that was going on below him, Peter watched from the stairs as the Gryffindor population got slowly and slowly more high.

He ate one of the house-elf weed brownies and felt his shoulders relax. He took out a camera.

..

The photos were put in the locked away area under his bed.

..

It was the anniversary of his mum’s death.

There wasn’t much to think about. If there was, it was the fact that she shouldn’t have been dead. Peter knew that she hadn’t been in the original.

(It was his fault.)

Peter sat alone in the room of requirement and rested his forehead against the window that had been conjured earlier. He let the quiet roll over him.

Crack.

_Crack_.

..

“Hey. Peter.”

He ruffled his curly hair and ignored a girl who was staring at him. Peter was dead tired.

“Lupin.”

The scarf was shoved onto Peter’s lap, and Peter watched a few students take out books from the library shelves while they whispered about Herbology.

“Ah, right.” He took the scarf and put it neatly into his bag. He nodded to Lupin on the way back to his desk away from the shelves.

Peter turned to his parchment and wrote down a property of tiger’s blood. He hated potions, most days he just wanted to write ‘wet’ down next to properties, because Slughorn didn’t care about anyone but his favourites so what did it even matter?

He’d made eye-contact with the Professor twice during his lifetime, and other than that, that was the only acknowledgment that he knew Peter existed. Peter’s marks were usually just above average.

He noticed light breathing and noticed that Remus had followed him. Peter raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Thanks.”

“It’s fine. Bring your own next time.”

“Right.”

Remus walked away, and Peter wondered why he hadn’t ditched the scarf onto Peter’s bed right after the match three days prior. He shrugged and turned back to his question.

Maybe he could get away with writing ‘moist’ as a property?

...this was probably why Slughorn didn’t like him, wasn’t it?

..

He walked in on Sirius alone in the room, strumming his guitar. It was because of the childish awe on Sirius’ face as he looked at it, that when Peter walked in, he didn’t try to immediately take it back. He thought of Mary and her own joy, and let him be.

Peter sat down on his bed, and the two boys sat in a comfortable silence.

Sirius played a cord.

“You going for a specific song?” Peter asked, watching a frog hop around his curtain.

Sirius looked surprised that Peter was talking to him.

“Maybe. I reckon rock and roll’s a cool genre.”

“Queen?”

He lit up. “You know Queen?”

Peter looked at him incredulously, “you’d had to live under a rock to not know _Queen_.”

Sirius rolled onto his ankles and nearly skipped over to Remus’ bed, where he comfortably stretched out and balanced the guitar across his legs.

“Not many people do!” Sirius said, “Mary Mckinnon and Lily know, but they don’t care much about it. How can’t they? Queen is _legendary_!” He playfully strummed a couple of times, and Peter winced a bit.

The guitar was out of tune, because Peter had a bad habit of fidgeting with the knobs. It was so close to the side of his bed, so when he couldn’t sleep he reached down and fidgeted with the little knobs until he got too tired to continue to do so. It was good his bed was at the edge of the room, because he couldn’t imagine someone looking over at his bed and seeing a pale hand fidgeting with a guitar to try and find the end of it at two am.

“You’re going for ‘Keep Yourself Alive?’”

Sirius grinned and nodded rapidly. “You can tell? I tried the start around twenty minutes ago.”

“I can indeed tell you tried to teach yourself twenty minutes ago,” Peter confirmed.

He scowled. “Right, forgot you were an asshole.”

“Being truthful doesn’t equate to being an asshole.”

“Is that what you said to the other little kids when you dobbed them in for eating play-dough?”

Peter’s mood soured.

“Shit, I’m so sorry you’re untalented.”

Sirius’ face blanked, and he stood up from Remus’ bed and wandered over to the opposite side of the room, where he sat in dangerous fury.

Peter watched him curiously, and noticed him put his fingers down in odd places in order to get the notes he was playing.

“That’s a hard C,” Peter commented blankly. “You’re going to want to go for a — just move your fingers higher one,” he amended when he noticed the blank look.

“So now you’re trying to help me, Mary?” His voice was stiff, and he didn’t look back at Peter. His olive branch earlier had been rescinded with Peter’s responses, and Sirius was never one to forgive easily, if at all. He burned instead, like a bonfire.

“No,” Peter muttered sarcastically, “you’re not _talented_ enough for that. You couldn’t _possibly understand my instructions.”_

“I’m so fucking sorry, your majesty. Should I iron your trousers for you? Trim your toes? Why don’t I throw this guitar at your ugly mug?”

“Why don’t you move your fingers higher one instead?”

Sirius stubbornly kept his fingers in place.

“Right. Well, whatever.” Peter got flipped off.

Sirius spent the rest of the day playing Queen, and it would have went into the night if Potter hadn’t eventually climbed out of his bed and attempt to smother him.

Peter’s head chimed botched cords for the rest of the week.

..

Something felt _wrong_.

His stomach felt sick, and his head busy and his limbs heavy. He wasn’t going to upchuck or curl into a ball and sob for six hours, but he didn’t feel... good.

Peter ignored the conversation from the three beds around him and pulled back his curtains.

“Morning, Pettigrew,” Lily snipped.

He sent her a brief and unenthusiastic wave, which she audibly scoffed at. Nobody else said anything, so Peter slumped off to the bathroom and took a quick shower all the while wondering what was wrong with him.

It wasn’t any anniversary, just some lazy day in March.

He dried off his hair and eyed the nail-polish he kept hidden behind some of the bottles.

No. He didn’t feel up to trying to do that.

One day.

Peter walked out of the bathroom to an empty dorm.

He had on a simple black shirt and pair of pants. The others had gone off to the common room or wherever they went on weekends. His skin was still slightly red with heat, so he sat back on his bed to cool down and pulled out a book to wake himself up.

His ribs felt itchy so he lifted up his shirt, and yawned.

The door practically slammed open and Lily rushed in to grab a pink bag left next to one of the broken lamps that nobody had bothered replace.

It was as Peter jumped and turned to look at her with wide-eyes that her eyes trailed towards his bare stomach. He stopped scratching, and the shirt dropped.

“ _You_.”

His next breath came in shaking, and he felt himself subconsciously move back.

He hadn’t wanted to show his soulmark to anyone. Peter knew his soulmate was dead; it was obvious, there were no other reasons it would pale. He didn’t like to think about it, not because he cared or anything, but because it was private and... well, it was private.

He didn’t like to think about it. Now someone else knew, and would probably _bring it up_ , which he didn’t _want_. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t there. It barely was, anyway.

Peter’s skin was pale, but his stomach was tinged red because of the heat, so no doubt the edges would have been visible. Maybe that was why he felt so off, but the ugly feeling trailing down his legs and along his arms and up his spine didn’t disappear with Lily’s entrance, so perhaps not. 

“Fuck off,” he quipped. “So _what_ if they’re dead? You already know. It’s none of your business, so don’t bring it up, and butt out!”

“You,” she repeated. “You have no idea, do you? After all this time you thought... is _that_ why you’re so... _you_?”

“Don’t be so cryptic, I already know they’re dead, why don’t you share with the class?” Peter smiled coldly, and rolled onto his feet. If she didn’t leave, he would. He didn’t feel up to dealing with her.

“You know what?” Lily snipped, “you’re such a miserable bastard that I won’t tell you _anything_. You’ll find out soon enough, it’d be a miracle if you didn’t. Fuck, it’s a miracle you haven’t already!”

“What are you _talking about?_ ”

She grabbed her bag and pivoted to the door.

“Oi. Evans.”

“If you want your answers,” she turned her head over her shoulder and angrily stuck out her tongue — the 70’s was an odd time — and spat out a final statement. “Then _apologise_.”

“Then I guess I’ll never know.”

She slammed the door behind her.

..

He rubbed his eyes and thought about Lily’s angry words.

(“You have no idea, do you?“)

She knew something about his dead soulmate. Fantastic. Maybe it was her uncle or something, but if that was the case she wouldn’t have expected him to have known.

He could apologise.

It wouldn’t be sincere, though, and he didn’t care if it was or not, he didn’t want to do it. One apology meant she could lord herself as the _right_ one, when she _wasn’t_.

Peter turned a corner on the fourth floor and nearly walked straight into Remus.

“Oh, Peter,” he said unenthusiastically. “You know where Sirius, James and Lily went?”

“Nah, thought they were with you.”

Remus nodded and was about to step around him when he stopped, turned and walked alongside Peter, much to Peter’s surprise.

“Lily was angry with you earlier,” he said simply.

“Lily hasn’t matured since she was five.”

Remus gave him a look.

“What’d you do? She didn’t tell us anything.”

“You care about gossip?” Peter was genuinely surprised.

“It’s not gossip if it’s limited to your friend group.”

“Ah yes, and I have a scientist at home named Frankenstein who’s currently working on reattaching my testicles.”

“It’s very kind of Frankenstein to do that for you.”

“It is,” Peter said solemnly. He rolled with Remus playing along with surprised ease, “it’d be much nicer of him if he paid rent.”

“Oh, do you pay him?”

“Nah. He doesn’t accept payment of any kind except human souls and joy.”

“That explains you, doesn’t it?” Remus mused.

Peter felt himself laugh, and paused in place in pure surprise. It’d been a long time since he could last remember doing that. His throat ached.

“So that’s what it sounds like when you’re happy,” Remus blinked, “I didn’t think it was possible.”

Peter rolled his eyes and walked forward smoothly as if nothing had happened.

He looked away and coughed, “If I didn’t pay him then how did he take my joy and my soul?”

“Well this Frankenstein guy didn’t sound like a polite fellow from the very beginning. I assumed he took it.”

“Perhaps I’ll encourage him to visit your house next. You could do with being knocked down a few pegs.”

Remus chuckled darkly, “I’d send him running.”

“I don’t see that as a negative, it’d keep your junk safe if nothing else.”

“Better protect the junk,” he agreed. “It’s always good to —“

_Crack_.

They both stood side by side before the biggest purple disc Peter had ever seen.

It swirled and crackled loudly, imitative of electricity. The sound of tinkling water and the smell of dust and dampness leaked through, and Peter took a step back.

“What in Merlin’s sagging balls?” Remus took a step back to join him.

“It’s a disc,” Peter muttered, uncaring of letting Remus know about it or not. Many students had already seen them pop into existence behind him anyway, “they’ve been following me around for years.”

Remus sent Peter an incredulous look. “Why the hell are you so nonchalant about that? You should have told Dumbledore! We should leave. _Quick_.”

Peter eyed the swirling depth and inhaled the murky smell, “this is the longest it’s ever been near me.”

“Peter,” he eyed it and tried to pull Peter back, but Peter leaned forward.

“It’s so weird, huh? _What’s up little disc portal thingy?_ ”

“ _Portal_? Stand _back_ , dumbass.” Remus grabbed his sleeve.

Everything felt silent and muffled, and he ignored Remus’ pulling and increasingly panicked tone, and slowly stretched an arm forward.

He reached out and his fingers uncurled until a single finger was an inch away from the disc’s swirly depths.

“Stay back! Peter, don’t you — _we have to get Dumbledore_!”

“It’s funny,” Peter said lightly. He felt a misplaced sense of calm, and the odd feeling from that morning disappeared. “I’ve never liked it here. From the moment I was born I didn’t belong. If this was a portal... I don’t think I’d mind.”

“ _Peter!”_

Peter touched it, and at once it sucked him in like a vacuum, and a single hand grabbed the back of his shirt — only to be pulled in after him. The last thing he saw was Remus’ face, panicked and angry, in an ocean of purple.

  
  


*Souregnad. What a very surprising name. No one could ever guess the secret behind that one, oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any mistakes, feel free to tell me/mention them. Like I said before, they’re easy for me to miss sometimes.
> 
> ALSO. DON’T WORRY.  
> This is still a marauders era fanfiction. Therefore, while the portal may or may not take them elsewhere, it will inevitably tie itself all together again in a neat little bundle. What you’ve just read so far is part one of this fic. There is more to come, and the marauders won’t disappear. You’ll see them again.
> 
> The second part of this fic will — BEWARE, SPOILERS —>
> 
> \- Detail Remus and Peter finding themselves in the world and time of Harry Potter — as in, the original one, without the soulmarks
> 
> It’ll make more sense later. Just hold on tight. I’d tell you a date that the next chapter will be on by, but I’ve learned my lesson from last time.
> 
> It’ll come eventually. Hopefully soon.
> 
> Thank you again for the recommendations, if you added some to last chapter. It was so fun to read through them! 
> 
> EXPLANATIONS:  
> (I originally planned to squeeze this information in at a later date, but it might be easier to just address it here. You may find some of this information repeated in the comment section.)
> 
> WHY IS THE NAME ‘MARY’ ON THE MAP AND NOT ‘PETER’?
> 
> So, to explain Mary’s name on the marauders map.
> 
> Peter didn’t get a new soul upon his birth like others did; he re-used Mary’s, which is why memories from Mary passed on to Peter. While Peter sees himself as Peter, as a new soul, that’s not quite the case.
> 
> Mary lived first and therefore her life made more of an impression on the soul than her next life as Peter did. Mary’s mannerisms and likes and... everything non physical, was carried on to Peter.
> 
> Mary’s life, as well as her eventual death, dictates how Peter presently is, and how he acts.
> 
> By the time Peter took over in his new body, most mannerisms and opinions and such were already set in stone. They were already there, thanks to Mary. It takes a lot to change oneself; and Peter simply isnt that different from Mary, so the map picked the name Mary, because in their shared soul, at this moment, there is more Mary than Peter.
> 
> (But, you may wonder, how could that be, that Mary and Peter aren’t so different, when Mary is described as so carefree by Peter. When Mary is so idolised?
> 
> Uh. To put it succinctly, Peter is lying to himself. This will be addressed in the next following chapters. It’s been hinted at.)
> 
> (Oh yeah, that’s right, just more angst for the angst train! Don’t worry, it’s not too bad and there’s not a lot, if it was really bad then Peter would be reflecting on Mary and her experiences a lot more.)
> 
> Everything is effected by Mary. Including the name on the map.
> 
> If you need me to clarify further, feel free to let me know in the comments. This is a bit convoluted, my apologies.
> 
> WHAT IS PETER’S GENDER? WHY DOES HE REFER TO HIMSELF AS A GUY?
> 
> So as for his gender; if Peter’s soul was originally Mary’s, and Mary dictates his experiences and life etc, then why does he refer to himself as a male?
> 
> Well! That’s because Peter, despite owning a re-used soul and having once being a girl, sees himself as a boy because he doesn’t experience dysphoria. If you’re not sure what dysphoria is, give it a quick google.
> 
> Alright, so you could settle with the above two sentences as a summary, but if you’d like more information, then sit back! Here comes the science stuff. I’ll try to make it brief.
> 
> Copied straight from Wikipedia, “The causes of transsexuality have been studied for decades. The most studied factors are biological, especially brain structure differences in relation to biology and sexual orientation.”
> 
> Peter’s body, the one of Peter Pettigrew, is not biology effected so that he is transgender. Mary’s soul didn’t take her brain and body with it, only it’s consciousness. She didn’t take her gender along with her either.
> 
> You’ll find that in the original story, Peter Pettigrew is not trans — well actually, I guess he could be, but let’s go with the assumption that he is not. So when Mary took over Peter’s body, the body had a new, different brain there that simply wasn’t genetically... programmed?... to experience gender dysphoria. So, Peter is alright with being a boy.
> 
> And. Again, Mary carried along her consciousness, not her gender. A soul, in the case of this fic, doesn’t necessarily have a gender.
> 
> If I made a mistake somewhere, explaining the biology part, please feel free to correct me.
> 
> Alright, that’s a long enough authors note. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask in the comments, I’ll be sure to answer as soon as I can!
> 
> Kudos / Comment  
> Have a nice day!
> 
> Part one, over.


	5. An Unfortunate Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future sure looks bleak.
> 
> PART TWO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: in the following, you may see Remus’ reaction to everything as slightly out of character. While that is fair, just consider what things are like in his perspective. I doubt anyone could be pulled through a purple disc thing and be cool about it. 
> 
> *edited
> 
> Technically, since grammar is a social construct, this is absolutely fine

He woke up cold.

There was dirt in his ear from where it was pressed against the ground, and he heard wind bellowing above him, which further scattered dirt onto and around his body.

He coughed.

It was eerily silent.

Peter groaned and pulled himself onto his palms, and coughed again due to the grainy feeling at the back of his throat.

Around him was dark brown dirt with specks of gravel and white sand. Every now and then was a dandelion or a bunch of green and cream grass strands sticking out of the ground.

He crawled to and leaned over a small grassy patch, where he unceremoniously emptied his stomach. Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at it immediately after in disgust.

He looked around himself and slowly used the dirt to rub clean his hand.

Haha. Gross.

Peter slowly looked up, but he heard another groan, and was quickly distracted.

Oh.

Well, shit.

Peter flipped over and felt his heart stutter at the sight of Remus. He was curled up around an arm’s length away.

(— _Remus’ face, panicked and angry, in an ocean of purple_ —)

Peter swallowed, coughed and swallowed again to get away the taste of bile. “Lupin?”

Another groan.

“...Peter?”

“Lupin! Fuck. _Fuck_.”

“Where are we?” Remus managed to cough out. His muscled arms raised him up and Peter saw his face, which looked pale and sickly. He, unlike Peter, took the time to raise himself onto his knees. He looked around in distressed awe. “This is definitely not Hogwarts.”

Peter looked up, recognised the large white stones dotting out of the dirt in perfect rows, and felt cold apprehension. “No _dice_ , Dumbledore.”

Remus spun to face him and cool hard rage emanated out of his shaking form. “You fucking bastard,” he hissed. “I told you to get away from that thing. I fucking _told_ you!”

Peter nearly leapt in to defend himself, but came up slack amidst Remus’ anger. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Remus watched him gape like a fish, but eventually gave up on getting any sort of reply or explanation.

“Where are we?” Remus demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“Peter!”

“I _said_ I _don’t know_!”

“Well great!”

“I’m _sorry_ okay!” Remus looked unimpressed. Peter fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt.

The wind buffeted them and a piece of hair fell into Peter’s face. He brushed it away.

Remus fixed his clothes anxiously. Then, on his feet, he paced back and forth across the dry earth. “Well this is just fantastic, isn’t it? We don’t know where we are, we don’t know why or how we’re _here_ — and it’s _all your fault._ ”

“ _My_ fault? I don’t know what’s going on either! You think I wanted to be sucked into that portal thing?”

Remus’ voice went up an octave, and he mimicked Peter hysterically. “‘ _From the moment I was born I didn’t belong, poor me. Wowie if this was a portal, why, I don’t think I’d mind. I’m just going to stick my finger here, whoop-de-do, and oh lookie here, here — we are_.’ We’re in a fucking graveyard! Last time I checked, there was no graveyard at Hogwarts!”

“There could be,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Peter!”

“What?” He asked Remus angrily.

“Stop — just, stop! Okay? You got us into this mess and —“

“No I didn’t!”

Remus stared at him.

Peter clenched his fists and rose to his feet. He looked away and his eyes focused on the graves around them so that he didn’t have to make eye-contact, “well, fine. It’s my fault.” Sort of. Not really.

“Oh you _think_ so?” Remus snapped loudly, “well it’s oh well and dandy _now that you’ve realised_!”

“Shut up!”

Peter looked at their surroundings. There were graves as far as he could see; large and white. A fair amount were covered in moss and some even had bundles of fresh flowers. The graveyard had a tree in the centre. All in all, the place looked eerily familiar.

Remus’ eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “‘Shut up.’?”

“Yes. We’re not going to fix anything with you yelling at me.”

There was something slightly off about everything. It was like when he visited different areas or places — it gave off a different vibe, evident in the look and feel of the place. Yet the smell of the graveyard — a mix of wet dirt and musty flowers — was something he recognised. It was something he recognised and yet. Off.

  
It was hard to explain.

Remus scowled, “I'm not the only one. You know, maybe after you realise how much of a _dumbass_ you are, I’ll stop.”

The smell was... it was home. It was Peter’s home, his neighbourhood.

And the graveyard, it was the one _near his neighbourhood_. It had to be. It looked nearly exactly the same, except the tree must have had a growth spurt since the last visit — which was fair, it had been a while since he had visited the graveyard — and there were quite a few new additions.

“Maybe when you stop, you’ll realise that I need to tell you that I recognise this place. I know where we are, and I know how we can get back to school.”

“Oh, do you?” Remus put his hands on his hips.

“Yes! That’s what I said!”

Remus raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, and raised himself to his full height and brushed his clothes off. He finally removed his attention from Peter after seeing his conviction, and looked around. Remus faltered. “You sure?”

“It’s near my house.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier?”

Peter scowled at him, “like I could have.”

Remus brushed sand out of his hair, rolled his eyes and held out a hand in mock invitation. “Lead the way to our way out of here then, why don’t you, Mary?”

“Our way out is through my house, my floo. I keep some powder under my bed. And don’t call me Mary!”

“After this? No, I don’t think I’ll ever stop calling you Mary.”

“You’re so petty,” Peter muttered. “I swear you’re related to Lily somehow.”

He hummed, but didn’t reply to Peter. Remus gestured ahead, and Peter snubbed him to walk in the opposite direction of where Remus pointed, in the direction of his house. He walked around a few old graves, and spotted a couple of wilted flowers in patches of dirt. The graveyard was large, so it took a long time to reach the footpath that lead into the village.

“Can’t believe I tried to save you,” Remus muttered.

(— _panicked and angry_ —)

“Well it’s not like I planned to drag you in after me. You think I _want_ to be here?”

“You don’t seem that put off.”

“Oh come on! Do I have to say it? I’m not happy to be here, okay?”

Remus gave him a look, as if to say, ‘sure you’re not.’

“I’m not—“

“‘ _Oh my, I’m going to leap into this fun disc in the air! Oh boy, it came in such short notice, it’s such a shame that I couldn’t pack my trunk and my frog memorabilia that showcases my frog obsession which, when I think about it, I must keep in an attempt to cover up my blatant lack of a personality_ —‘“

“Stop, I get it! And _seriously_. You can’t blame me for you being here, it really isn’t my fault you jumped in after me!”

“I didn’t ‘jump in,’ I was _pulled_!”

“Well I didn’t plan that!”

Remus wasn’t looking at him. They wandered further down the path. “Right.”

Peter walked ahead of him so that he didn’t have to look at Remus’ face. From up ahead, he rolled his eyes.

  
The landscape, hilly and covered in flora, served as a stark contrast to the mood around them.

Remus spoke up again after a bit. “What was that, anyway? That purple disc thing. Was it a portkey? You called it a portal earlier.”

“I don’t know, but I’m leading towards the idea that it’s a portal,” Peter called behind him. It had the whole ‘swirly round thing’ going for it.

Remus stumbled over a rock and followed after Peter, who surveyed their surroundings with a pensive look on his face.

“You really _should_ be panicking more,” Remus said.

“Well you don’t seem that panicked either. We’ve just been... teleported away. I think. We’ll be alright, I’m sure the teachers will forgive us. It’s not like we’ve planned this.”

Peter eyed the bushes dotting the landscape, and walked around some old man’s house and down onto another branching path that lead up to yet another hilly area where his house was perched in somewhere.

He followed the familiar path. There were more cracks in the path then what he remembered.

The vibes were off.

They trailed along the path and onto a gravel road.

Peter walked quickly, and just as his house appeared at the edge of his vision, he came to an abrupt stop. Remus nearly collided into him.

“This isn’t right.”

Remus sighed. “ _Many things_ aren’t right about this situation.”

“No, that’s not it,” Peter snapped.

“Hey, I’m still focusing on the portal that spat us out into a graveyard near your house, thank you very much. Forgive me, Mary, for not being as cool about all this as you are!”

“No dumbass, that’s not it. You’re right, this situation is both shit and confusing and annoying, but that’s not what I — _look_. It’s my house — this isn’t _right_.”

“What’s not right?” Remus asked, “that one’s yours, right? It looks like a normal house to me.”

But it _wasn’t_ normal.

Maybe it was an illusion — but it couldn’t _possibly_ be an illusion, but maybe it was, but who would bother — and who would know to cast it and for what, it wouldn’t accomplish anything, but maybe his dad... but he wouldn’t.

_Sunflowers_.

Bright and colourful, long and twisted. Around alcoves, leaning against the walls, tall and flourishing. Peeking around the mailbox, dotting around a window that Peter recognised as his bedroom’s.

Peter had always wondered what the house would have looked like if the sunflowers had never been cut to the ground.

“No, you don’t get it.” His stomach felt heavy, and as he turned to look behind him, Remus’ eyes widened a bit.

“ _This isn’t right._ ”

..

Remus opened his mouth, most likely to make a sarcastic comment, but Peter was already sprinting to the house.

Peter panicked.

There was no car, no beat up old truck that his dad adored, just an empty overgrown — with _sunflowers_ , of all _things_ — driveway. In front of the door was a bundle of wilted roses, which Peter ignored in favour of pulling on the door knob, which didn’t budge.

That in itself was strange. His dad never locked the house; he was of the mind that if someone broke in, the person would have nothing to steal. His dad also thought that he could beat intruders up — the idea of acting like ‘chickens’ in his own neighbourhood and locking up or installing security (even if in those days it wasn’t that high tech and tended to amount to ‘tall fence’) seemed barbaric for him. 

_Peter_ believed that that was an awful mentality, but since he didn’t care much for his dad’s wellbeing, so it wasn’t like he had tried to educate him or encourage him to do otherwise.

Natural selection and all that.

Peter breathed heavily and ran around to the back. There was a distant call of, “ever heard of _knocking_ ,” but Peter couldn’t hear over the blood rushing to his head. He climbed over the fence, and was nearly sick at the sight of the garden —

( _It was so empty._ There was no _lavender_ , no _anything_ of the flowers he had planted. The yard was _barren_ and _dead_. It was almost as if Peter had never existed.)

He pulled on the back door but it stayed stubbornly closed. Peter went to his last resort, “dad!” He yelled, “open up! I’m home!”

Nothing. _Nothing_.

“Dad? It’s Peter, I’ll — I’ll call the neighbours if you won’t let me in!”

Still no response.

Peter cupped his hands to his face, and ignored the sound of Remus tumbling over the fence to join him. “Dad! Dad? Hey, asshole!”

Distinctly unimpressed, Remus called out to him. “I don’t think he’s here, Peter.”

“He’s probably out — oh, hah, there’s no car in the driveway. Yeah, he must be out.”

But something felt... off. It was that same feeling from the graveyard all over again. That same feeling from back at Hogwarts.

Remus looked at him in concern. Peter jogged to the glass window which showcased a clean kitchen, and ignored Remus’ protests and picked up a pebble, which he threw as hard as he could at the window. It didn’t smash. 

“Peter! There are _better ways to do this!_ ”

“This is the _fastest_ way.”

“Oh Merlin.”

He grabbed another, and another, and threw and threw and threw and then finally something cracked.

Peter and Remus both winced. Peter didn’t spare the fallen glass a second glance and ran towards the opening.

“What are you... hey! Don’t climb through that! Come back!”

His legs and feet got scratched by the glass that had embedded itself between the kitchen tiles as well as the counters which he had to crawl over in order to reach the floor. He ignored the cuts that quickly formed, and the blood that slowly oozed down his legs.

“Gone,” Peter breathed. He looked around and opened and closed a kitchen cabinet. There was a stark lack of the personal items that his dad often carried around. There were no towels and cutlery, and the few ornaments that remained seemed to be there for the sole purpose of making the space look like a display house. “That asshole _left_ me! That — but the _sunflowers_ , I don’t _get it._ ”

Remus called out for him, but Peter muttered to himself and ignored him. “It’s not like dads the type to put together sunflowers or... or anything for me. Even if he was going to ditch me afterwards. The guy’s an asshole! He wouldn’t have planted them. He just. He just, he took the cutlery and his stuff and then he left. But _who planted the sunflowers_? And why’d he leave _now_?—“

“Oi, come back!” Remus called from outside, “I don’t know what’s happening but we could ask door to door and see if we could chance upon a witch or wizard —“

Peter didn’t want to do that, so he gave a quick explanation. “No, there are none. I... This is definitely my house, but my dad is gone and the house has _changed_. I want to look around for a bit. He’s gone, Remus. My dad is _gone_.” Oddly enough, he didn’t feel happy about it.

Remus looked at him, aghast through the other side of the smashed glass. “Peter, calm down. You said his car was out, right? He’s probably redecorated and maybe he went to the shops or something. It’s fine, Peter, take... uh, deep breaths.”

“You think I’m not trying that? And of course he hasn’t redecorated! _Redecorated_!” He scoffed, “he’s the most miserable piece of shit in existence. And if by some chance he did redecorate, no way in the many levels of hell would he plant _sunflowers_.”

“What’ve you got against — _hey, come back!_ ”

Peter didn’t look back at him. “I’ll be here again later, just wait there!”

“Peter, I’m going to _curse your ass when you come back I swear to Merlin!_ ”

Peter stumbled down the kitchen hallway around to the living room, where he looked at the odd flowery wallpaper that he certainly never remembered ever having been there before.

The whole house seemed to be covered in new decorative items.

The walls were docked with handmade bits and pieces that seemed like something an old lady would have, like little dusty canvases showcasing exotic fruit, or cute knitted hats that hung from doorknobs, as well as handmade banners saying things like ‘love your life, live your truth, be you!’ Or even, ‘hate is a strong word.’

He grimaced at the cheerful messages. It was way too cheesy, and nothing like his dad and him had in the house before.

The house was clean, dusty but clean. It looked so different, so — not _his_.

There was a picture of a very ratty child, which Peter thought was a very ugly stock photo that must have never been replaced. He ignored it and continued down the hallway.

Then there was his dad’s room.

Peter's mouth ran dry. One bed, neutral colours. There was pink in the room, more pink than there was anything else, and his dad _hated_ the colour pink.

It looked like it belonged to a _woman_.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t _right_!

He stumbled down the hallway to his room. He faced it with solemnity.

Different.

Tears built in his eyes at the sight. Out of all of the rooms, his bedroom looked the most changed. Maybe it was because he knew his room better than any of the other rooms in the house.

The bed was bigger. If he stretched out, he would fit. It was neatly made in red and navy bedsheets that he hadn’t had before. Another picture of the ratty baby stayed on the side table, and a ruffled looking woman cradled him in her arms. But the carpet was his, and the photos on the walls were his — of cars, and a Gryffindor scarf, but no frog stickers. The trunk at the end of the bed was his, and Peter opened it but found it empty.

It was his room, but not. It had bits and pieces of him in it, but you really had to squint to see them. The room had the same gritty old carpet that his dad had picked out yonks ago, it had the same work desk that was shoved into the corner, and it had the same trunk and painted ceiling and —

It wasn’t as if he had never existed.

_No_ , it was as if he had been _replaced_.

And if he were to consider the whole house, it was as if his _parents_ had been replaced.

As if his family had never lived there.

But why was the room so much like his? Why did it hold an _imprint_ of him?

He didn’t understand.

“This isn’t mine,” he whispered. “This _isn’t mine_.”

He fell to his knees, and the blood that had not yet dried sank down his legs into the carpet. He looked down at it in disgust. Peter then glanced up and took in the room with equal disgust.

The room obviously belonged to someone well taken care of. Loved. It _wasn’t his._

His room. The original one, it had been his own private space. A place that proved that he existed. That he had gone through hardship. That he had bitten and clawed his way to the top. That, despite all the odds stacked against him, he continued to exist. But now...

“Peter.”

Tears fell down his face in a worryingly steady stream.

A hand nervously rested on his shoulder.

His room had been childish and small, a show of the neglect thrust upon him day by day. This was a room of someone who had been cared for, spoilt even, someone who _should_ have been him, but _wasn’t_.

It was wrong. Everything was wrong and he just _didn’t get it_ , _why_ was this happening to _him_? Did he _deserve_ it? Fuck everything! He didn’t deserve _shit_ , why was everything going _wrong_ —

“ _Peter_.”

Someone grabbed his hand and rested it against their chest.

“Breathe along with me, got that? In, out. In...hold, out.”

Peter’s breath stuttered among sobs, and he did his best to calm himself. In, out. In, out.

“In, out.”

In, out. In and out.

“Can you see my finger?” He could. “When it goes towards me, breathe out, when it goes sideways, hold your breath, and when it goes towards you, breathe in. Follow along with me.”

Peter followed.

“That’s if, you’ve got it. In, out. Everything’s going to be alright.”

He didn’t calm down immediately.

It took a long while, he didn’t know how long, until he finally relaxed enough for Remus to remove his hand.

  
He had lived an awful childhood, and he could acknowledge that. He had to fight to eat, sometimes it was like he fought for the right to even exist. Peter lived in a world that didn’t want him, in a world that seemed to scream at him whenever he took a step to self-empowerment.   
  


And that had shown in his room. It had shown in his street, in his gardens — his escape from reality, even if that idea sounded dramatic and weird. It had shown in how he dressed, and how he spoke, and how he held himself. It showed in his aesthetic.

His upbringing was awful—

It was something he couldn’t escape. So of course it left it’s mark on him. So his room, there, was nothing more than a falsity. It was too clean, it was too put together and themed. It was nothing like him. In a way, it was like it was telling him that all of his struggles had been for nothing.

After all, if he had lived and yet nothing remained from that, then had he truly lived?

“I’d offer you water, but the kitchen is full of glass. I smashed the back door off its hinges to get in, by the way. Sorry if you liked that door.”

Peter swallowed. “That’s alright. And I can drink from the bathroom tap. I know where it is. I mean, I probably do, this place is... this place is different from what I remember.”

“The bathroom tap? That’s nasty,” Remus joked.

“I think it’ll be fine.” He rubbed his nose. “It’s probably clean. After all, I... I don’t think anyone has lived here for a long time.”

..

They sat next to each other quietly against the front door of the house, the wilted flowers that had previously leaned against the door were thrust aside onto the pavement.

Remus kindly remained silent so that Peter could brood.

They leaned right near a cluster of sunflowers. Remus watched Peter fidget with a few stray petals. “Why do you think that no ones lived here for a long time?” Remus carefully prodded.

“The dust. The wallpaper, the flowers — everything’s changed. Remus, I really don’t think that... I don’t think that we’re... well.” He swallowed. The words just didn’t seem to appear. Remus would think he was crazy.

“What don’t you think?” He asked carefully.

Peter took a deep breath and spat what he has thought out in a single breath — “I think we’re in the future or the past or something.”

“What?” Remus deadpanned. “How’d you come up with that conclusion?”

“It adds up, okay? I think we’re in the future! The tree in the graveyard Remus, it’s bigger than what I remember, and there’s more graves and the house... it’s _changed_. Like it has different owners or something. It’s a lot different from what I remember. It’s _so_ different that it looks like I never lived there in the first place!”

“Peter, you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t understand! Let me ex—“

“Neither do you!”

“Well _no_ , but I have a _theory_ , so you might as well hear me out. Mum planted these sunflowers before she died. Well not really, they came with the house and mum just cared for them but same thing.” 

“That’s not the same—“

“ _Not important_. I loved them, and she’d always water them, sometimes she’d carry me along with her in her arms and she’d sing and dance and I’d try to dance too. I wasn’t very good at it—“

“ _Get to the point_.”

“Right, sorry. She was... good. A good mum. But one day, there was a fire and then. She wasn’t there. So I was left to my dad, and dad didn’t like sunflowers, so I woke up one day and they were all over the ground. Dead, cut down. Lupin, dad hates flowers. There’s no way he planted these while we were at school. Hell, there’s no way they’d grow this much in under a year.”

The wind blowed, and handmade wind chimes tittered and clicked in the breeze. Peter’s eyes closed, and he inhaled the scent of the sunflowers around him.

Making charms, giggling, dancing and listening to old music. Showing him certain ways to twirl his body, and him raising eyebrows but attempting to twist around and ending up ass over tits on the ground while mum laughed in fond joy.

Photo after photo, taken when he wasn’t looking, all crammed into a small book, then crammed into the attic. Forgotten, neglected, covered in dust.

Remus didn’t look like he wanted to believe him. “So that immediately means we’re... maybe —“

“Lupin, so much has changed! It makes sense!”

Remus took a deep breath, and then let it out. “Peter.”

“Lupin.”

“ _Peter_!”

  
Remus steadily placed his head in his hands.

Birds chirped in the distance.

In the uneasy silence, Remus moved to help Peter pick out glass from the underside of his shoes. They didn’t look at each other. Peter yanked out a particularly big piece, and let out a small cry when he glimpsed his foot from where the shard had just been. Blood covered his fingers, so he pulled off the shoe and used his sock to clumsily mop up some of the blood on both his foot and his legs.

Remus took one look at what Peter was doing and vanished inside, and returned minutes later with fabric which Peter recognised as having been previously used for the curtains.It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than his sock. Together they bound up his foot.

Peter looked towards the graveyard. “You know, if mum had lived, it’d be just like this, I’d imagine.”

Remus hummed.

“There’d still be the sunflowers in the front yard, and the wallpaper would change — just like this one, and I bet that we’d have more bits and bobs and uh, girly things around. It’d be just like...” Peter slowly trailed off, and comprehension dawned in his face.

“Like this?” Remus drawled.

“Lupin,” Peter whispered. “ _Exactly_ like this.”

“Oh Merlin. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“ _Exactly like this_! I think, I think...”

Remus sighed loudly. “Oh come on, you’ve already told me that the portal thing apparently dropped us into the past or the future. You have nothing to lose here. Go ahead, tell me what you think now.”

“Remus, I don’t think the portal dropped us into the future.”

“Oh thank—“

“The portal dropped us into a world where my mum never died!”

All hope shattered.

  
  
“Peter. If we’re in a different world, I don’t think it’d be focused and based around just the idea of just your mum having never died.”

“Oi. It was my portal, wasn’t it? And I think it’s also a different world that’s currently in what we’d call the future! Because, you know. More graves and the tree is bigger and — yeah.”

Remus looked very unimpressed. He stared. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“I know. It sounds ridiculous but... well, there’s one way to find out if I’m correct!”

Peter bit his lip and rose to his feet. He extended a hand and pulled Remus up, and then pulled him along the dusty front driveway in the direction of the graveyard. He hopped for a couple of seconds before Remus grudgingly put Peter’s hand over his shoulders for support.

..

They stood side by side in stunned silence.

“You know,” Peter said, “so far, this place is _shit_. I never thought I’d get one of those.”

Remus stared at it too. “No, I’m sure you will. Would have. I don’t know,” he said in a slightly flabbergasted monotone. “You talking about how your dads a dick and therefore probably wouldn’t dig one for you? Because I’m sure he would. Maybe.”

“ _Maybe_... the people in the village dug it for me,” Peter guessed. “Maybe they’ve been watering the sunflowers too. I really ought to be nicer to them when we... get back.”

‘Get back.’ The simple phrase implied a lot of things.

“To see your own grave... kind of morbid, isn’t it?” Remus rolled his eyes, “well I can tell that your theory of your mum still being alive is wrong. Sorry ‘bout that. Your mums dead, looks like your dads dead, and hey, you are too. This is kind of shitty, I reckon.”

Peter’s grave stood before them.

It was large. Larger than he deserved, larger than what anyone would have usually had for a grave. It towered over the graves of his parents, which stood on either side of it.  
  


  
He had initially tried to find his mum’s grave, and had barely glimpses the familiar last name before both of them had been instantly distracted by the much larger one next to it. 

Well, he knew why his dad wasn’t home now.

_Peter Pettigrew_ , the gravestone read.

_Gone at the hands of a friend,_

_May his spirit forever prosper_.

It was covered from head to toe in flowers and tokens. It shone in the evening sun.

“Gotta say,” Remus said lowly. “Didn’t know I was talking to a dead guy.”

“Didn’t know I was dead.”

“I like the ivy growing up the side, it’s very fetching. Especially with the crack near the bottom.”

Peter nodded solemnly, “it is pretty nice, isn’t it?”

He felt too tired and drawn out to really react to it. He didn’t know _how_ he was apparently dead, but the grave proved Peter’s theory at least. They weren’t in the same world as before, and they were potentially in the future — and sure, it didn’t prove his theory to the dot — it wasn’t a different world where the _only_ changed variable was his mum’s death, because she was dead and apparently according to the date on the grave had just died later, but it was a changed world _nonetheless_.

It was a changed world where _many_ variables had changed, and they had the proof right in front of them.

  
Peter knew a few things about where the portal had spat them.

Number one. He was in a reality where his mum was dead. The fact was also true in the old one, but it was a fact worth noting. She had just died later, and he’d double check around when later when he could remove his eyes from his own grave.

Number two, his dad was dead. 

Three. Peter was dead.

Four, the small village seemed to have aged.

Five. In this reality, apparently his dad hadn’t destroyed the sunflowers. This probably meant that he was either nicer or that Peter’s mum had stuck up for him.

Six. Peter himself had been influenced by his mum living longer. This was a guess, but it did seem logical on some levels. Through having a mum, this Peter had had a better upbringing, and yet developed an aversion to gardening. 

There were many more variables, but those were the most important ones on his mind.

Peter looked down at the grave and sighed.

Well, bye other Peter, he thought. You spoilt loon.

Spoiled by his parents, who — he checked the gravestone, died later, more specifically his dad in 1979 and his mum ten years after, in 1989.

He felt like he was missing something, but he was too tired and groggy to tell.

Remus flipped around to him, “you know what? You’re being ridiculous, there’s no way we’re in another world.” In response, Peter groaned.

“You’re kidding. We have to be,” Peter said. “This _proves_ it. Do you also need a big neon sign saying it?”

“It just doesn’t make _sense_ , it wouldn’t happen to us for no reason, it’s not like we’ve done any weird spells or anything recently. Have you?” Peter shook his head. “See, no. We’re not in another world, Peter. That’s...”

“We jumped through a _portal_ , it doesn’t matter if we did a spell or not. Fact of the matter is, we’re here. Also,” he gestured down to the grave. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t dead!”

Remus shook his head, “no, we _didn’t_ _jump_ , _you_ went through it and you _pulled me along_.”

“We’re back to this? Lupin! No, you tried to save me and in the process got dragged in too. It’s not my fault you came in too, okay? It was your decision.”

“That’s for the reminder,” he spat. Peter rolled his eyes.

Something wasn’t right. There was an obvious clue, something obvious. He looked around, but couldn’t find it. The size of the tree in the centre of the graveyard, now that he looked closer, hinted at the fact that they were specifically around... maybe fifteen to twenty years in the future, but that was about it. He wasn’t sure about that however, it wasn’t like he was an expert on trees.

“You... _you_ did this,” Remus said. “It’s because of you that we’re here!” He stormed over to the grave and picked up one of the red flowers. “If you hadn’t went through that portal portkey thing, we’d be safe at Hogwarts!”

“I’m _sorry_ , okay, but we can’t do anything about that now!”

Remus bit his lip and didn’t look at him. “I expected to be reading a book somewhere by this time,” he mumbled. “Maybe I’d be eating dinner. But nope, here I am, on Peter bloody Pettigrew’s gravestone!”

He turned his attention back to Peter and sarcastically spat out, “at least it’s a good one, it’s polished and everything, it’s got flowers and it’s got little notes. Oh look, this one says ‘I aspire to be like you.’ That’s a terrible aspiration, really. It also looks like a dogs been here recently,” Remus pointed at a few tracks in the dirt nearby. “It’s more than you deserve, I reckon. You’re an ass. I wonder if you did something cool before you kicked it. Dunno what, though.”

  
“Fair, I guess. I didn’t think in any reality I’d ever be missed this much... wait, dog prints.”

“What about them?”

“ _Recent_.”

Recognition dawned. He buried his face in his hands. His shoulders lightly shook.

Fuck.

Haha. _Fuck_!

“Change of plans,” Peter said, his voice muffled.

Dog prints, recent ones, his grave, ‘ _Gone at the hands of a friend_.’ The unfamiliar woman in the well cared for house.  
  


His eyes zapped towards one of the graves next to his gravestone.

_Delaney Pettigrew._

That. _Wasn’t his fucking mum._

_Sunflowers_ , in the garden, the pictures of the ratty child he saw on the mantle and subsequently ignored in favour of rushing to _his dad’s room—_

No. It _wasn’t_ his dad’s room.

It was the room of that unfamiliar woman. It was Delaney’s.

It was just like how the kitchen wasn’t the same, and how his room wasn’t the same, and how the wallpaper wasn’t the same. Everything was different. It was because his mum had never lived there, _Delaney Pettigrew and her family had._ Delaney and Peter’s dad, and, well, Peter Pettigrew. The _other_ Peter Pettigrew.

“I think... I think I know where we are, I think I know exactly where we are,” Peter muttered. “You’re not going to like this.” He cupped his face.

..

“What do you mean you know where we are? You keep changing your mind,” Remus hissed as Peter dragged him through the graveyard and back to his house. He walked on his injury without a care in the world. “Did you fucking _plan_ this? Did you put that — that portal thing there, and purposefully pull me in?”

“I always keep a jar of floo powder under my bed,” Peter said. “I didn’t check because I was distracted, but it should be here in this world. Reality, whatever. Hopefully. Honestly, even if I don’t have it, I can just search around the fireplace, I think Del — _she_ , was a witch.” Peter had put the jar under his bed because of his dad, originally. Since he had the same dad in this reality — he had double checked the gravestone — he was guessing that this Peter had done the same.

“Peter, for Merlin’s sake, answer me. Explain, don’t just ignore me!”

“I can’t really count on her, though. My supply was in case of emergencies, which I think this qualifies for. We can go to Diagon Alley, or Knockturn, I’ve heard of this place called Souregnad, it sells fake IDs, which we can probably get a hand on if we use a strong compulsion charm because I sure as hell don’t have money.”

“What do you mean ‘fake IDs?’” Remus was pulled after Peter by his sleeve as he started to run to the house, “ _Souregnad_? We don’t _need_ those — _where are we, Peter_?”

“My village,” he said sarcastically, “a place of love and dreams and hope. The locals here tend to be small and blue, they wear identical white hats—“ the back of his shirt was yanked, and Peter stumbled backwards onto his butt.

Remus looked down at him. “Calm _down_ ,” he hissed. “Calm down, and _explain_. Listen here, so you say know where and when we are. Explain, what’s your next theory? I’m not going to just wander along after you, okay? I barely even know you!”

“I think us being stranded in a new reality or world or whatever together eliminates the need for qualifications in knowing each other well.”

“Shut up, Peter. Don’t brush this off. I’m confused, okay? I don’t — I don’t know what’s going on, and you brought us here. You say you know. So it’s your... duty. _Obligation._ To fill me in. Okay? Okay.” Remus tugged his sleeve free and squatted next to Peter on the ground.

Peter swallowed. His hands dug into the soil, and he felt a bug lazily crawl over his nails. Remus didn’t understand, he didn’t understand and — they weren’t supposed to be here! They didn’t have the time to _carefully go over things._

_They weren’t supposed to be here!_   
  


And he didn’t want to explain why.

Hell, he didn’t want to explain how he knew.

Peter had always been misplaced; he wasn’t supposed to have become Peter. He should have stayed as Mary, the sweet unassuming girl who hated tomatoes and loved looking at pictures of pretty old buildings while she daydreamed in class.

But he _wasn’t_ Mary.

He was Peter. Peter, who was doomed to be shot down by the hands of his ex best friends. No, by his _own_ hand, because that was how _pathetic_ he was. He had escaped, narrowly escaped, only to come to a time where _Pettigrew_ had not.

The _other Pettigrew, had not._

(That’s right. That’s where they were. They were there — _there_! _That_ reality, that — _that_ place, that place where Peter — Mary-Peter, had never existed. That grave, earlier. It didn’t have his mother’s name on it. It was some other woman’s. That wasn’t his mother, _that wasn’t his_. But that grave with Peter’s name on it. There was no mistake, that was the _original’s_. The _original Pettigrew’s_. The dog prints proved it. It also told where in the timeline they were.   
  


_When Peter had reached out, with the knowledge he never belonged, the portal had taken him away to a place where he never would._ )

Perhaps he was being stupid, and the dog prints belonged to a different dog. That made sense but — instead of believing that, he listened to his gut instead.

Peter clenched a handful of dirt.

He wasn’t alone, however. Remus grabbed onto him, so he _wasn’t alone_. He should have been glad, happy to have company, but he wasn’t. He only felt dread, cooling dread. Peter wanted the purple disc back, he wanted to jump through and pull Remus in after, because while Peter didn’t want the reality he was born in, this one — the Harry fucking Potter universe and timeline — wasn’t better!

Remus didn’t _understand_. He _wouldn’t_ understand. They didn’t belong, they didn’t belong, they didn’t _fucking_ belong.

Peter didn’t want to explain.

(If he explained, he’d be asked how he knew the things he knew. And if Remus asked that...)

He didn’t want to bring up Mary, because Mary was innocent and pure and not one to be scorned in conversation. Not one to be brought up and talked about, because any ideas or concepts he mentioned were generally open to criticism, and of all things, Peter didn’t want to accept criticism on her.

Not when she was the good version of him, not when she was everything he was not.

So, he didn’t mention her. He lied, because he had always been a good liar.

(Peter was the one who was corrupt, not Mary. Peter could corrupt himself more, it didn’t matter. As long as he had Mary, as long as he could claim he used to be her, that he had used to be _good—)_

“I had odd dreams,” he bullshitted suddenly, while steadfastly looking into the distance. “Sometimes they come true. I’ve dreamed of this place, this... alternate dimension, this _potential future_ , a long, long time ago. I’ve spent my entire life trying to avoid it. The reason I’m avoiding it, because it _can_ be avoided is because... it’s because. _For fucks sake just trust me Lupin_ , we don’t _belong_ here. We _can’t_ be here, we need to find a way back.”

“You’ve got to be _smoking_ something to think I’d just believe you like that. _I can tell you’re lying_. You said you knew where we were, and I saw that that was the truth. I asked for an explanation, many times actually, did I really need to specify that I wanted a _truthful_ explanation too?” Remus scoffed. “You really think I’d believe this ‘potential future’ rubbish? I bet your house is always like this, and you’re just making fun of me. In fact, I know you’re making fun of me! The — the portal thing, it’s a joke you pulled on me, isn’t it? _Explain_ Peter!”

“I _did_ explain!” Peter hissed, “and do you really think I’m fucking with you? The grave back there has my name, the dates that are there are way beyond the date we left — didn’t you see that, on the way back? There are new ones since I last saw them, there are new ones past our graduation year — I’m _dead_ , apparently, and obviously I’m _not_ dead and, and, and for fucks sake, just trust me! I’m shit at magic, this isn’t an elaborate joke!”

Remus’ fists clenched. “I don’t want to trust you. I know you. I know I shouldn’t. I have no reason to.”

“You have to!”

“I don't — no. _No_! I’m not trusting someone who I know is lying.”

Peter scrambled to his feet and stared him down, which was awfully unsuccessful due to the fact Remus was a fair few centimetres taller than him.

“Do you have a choice? Here, say you’re right, say I am fucking with you. Say this is just some village that happens to have my gravestone, maybe it’s an ancestor with the same name, maybe it tells the future — whatever, if that’s the case, _what are you going to do now?_ ”

“Knock on doors,” he said stiffly, “and see if I can find any witches or wizards. Find our way back to Hogwarts, where _we would still be if it wasn’t for you, by the way_!”

“We are the only non-muggles in our current vicinity. The closest ones are a fair way away, I reckon we’d either need a car or a hell of a lot of patience to find them.”  
  


“Do you,” Remus grit his teeth, and his shoulders rose to cradle his head, “know what you’re saying? When you say that we’re in a new future? Reality? One that you know everything about? It’s one thing to say we’re in a different reality, Peter, or a different timeline or... or, or... I, but it’s — it’s another thing to say you know about everything that’s going to happen here. Especially because of some dreams from long ago.”

Peter scowled, “I _do_ know what I’m saying. What, you think I welcomed the possibility as soon as the hat dropped? Fuck no! I’m telling you, I know where we are, I know much more than you could ever imagine —“

“You know what? I don’t believe you, but still, say you’re right. Say this is a different reality that you’ve pulled me into that you’ve _dreamed about_. Do you know how to get back? Right, so you might have floo powder, great. But do you know how we’d get back to our world? Our _reality_?”

He froze. “No.”

  
“We were at Hogwarts around an hour or two ago. I don’t understand how so much has changed. It can’t have from just that portal... and...”

(There was a well in Australia. It was chipped and covered in pretty purple painted designs, old and grey. It was at the back of Mary’s house. Mary had loved it, and then one day she had gotten too close and stepped too far —)

Remus growled, and the hair on the back of Peter’s neck raised. It sent shivers down his spine, “and you don’t know anything that matters at this point in time, do you? We’re far away, you say, we’re not home, you say. Alright, fine! But you don’t know anything important, about what we should do now, so...”

“Not important? I know enough!” Did that mean that Remus was starting to believe him?

“No you don’t,” Remus spat, “you’re trying to act like you know more than I do, aren’t you? I still bet you’re playing a joke on me. There’s no fucking way you know everything about this place. What’s to say we’re in a different place from what you’ve dreamed up entirely? Well listen here, _Mary_ , this isn’t funny. You’re not smart. You know enough, huh? Then get us back home, okay?”

Peter swallowed. Remus obviously had the impression that Peter had created the purple disc portal thing in front of them, purposefully pulled Remus in, threw them both into a graveyard near Peter’s house — _he thought it was all planned._ Maybe Remus knew that he was being ridiculous, Peter believed that might be the case.

Remus was grasping at straws, and while Peter couldn’t get mad at him for that... he was mad at him anyway. It just wasn’t the time.

“Listen here, Lupin! We’re in an potential fucked up future, and you should just fucking deal with it!” He yelled up at him. 

“No we’re _not_ , we’re in some, we’re in some weird section of the hills surrounding Hogwarts which you’ve... you’ve enchanted to look _different_ —“

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“Shut up!”

“Lupin,” Peter hissed suddenly. “Face reality, okay? You said you can read me, you said you can tell when I’m lying. Look at me.”

Remus grit his teeth. “I’m looking.”

“We’re not at Hogwarts,” Peter said slowly, mockingly. “I’m not pulling a joke on you. We’re in a graveyard near my house, but not really my house, and we’re two or so decades in the future in a reality where, according to the grave earlier, I died twelve years ago. We’re in a potential future that I’ve been trying to avoid for over a decade. I never said that I knew ‘everything.’ I just know enough to know that we shouldn’t be here. I know more than you do, so you should trust me. _Deal with it._ ”

Clarity seemed to dawn in him, but he still looked angry. Remus drew up to his fully height, “I can’t fucking deal with it. Just because you believe the things you say doesn’t mean the things you say are true!”

“Well you should deal with it! And it is true!”

“I won’t — if you’re right. If you’re, fucking, _right_. If you’re... then that means we really are in the future, and my friends are all grown up, maybe my parents are dead, maybe —“

“Oh shit, sucks for you! Guess what, this isn’t our dimension so no one here is your friend. No one here is your parent, no one knows you exist _except for me_. If you want to get back, you’ll have to trust me, because you don’t have any other choice in the matter.”

“Oh, and you know better than me? Your fucking ‘dreams’ told you what to do here? And oh, don’t forget, ‘Sucks for me,’ you said. Well no shit! No wonder you seem so.. relaxed—“

Apparently breaking down in his house was ‘relaxed.’

“—I bet you’re happy to be here, I bet you’re happy that you can ‘predict’ what’s going to happen here with reference to your fancy fucking dreams, because after all, back home, it’s not like anyone ever liked you!”

Peter halted.

  
Remus stared him down, and continued on with a lowered voice. “Do you really want to go back home?”  
  


He stared at the ground and let his hair fall over his forehead. He looked away. “Fine. You’re right,” Peter said. “You’re right, no one ever liked me. But... that’s not really important, and —“

Remus scoffed. “Oh quit it, I’m not going to feel sorry for you. The fact that you don’t have friends — you’re already aware of it. You brought it on yourself.”

“I had to,” he said. “If I didn’t, our world would be like this one!”

“I don’t get what’s so bad about this world, according to you. What did you fear about it? Did you fear that you’d be dead? Did your dreams tell you about that?” Remus asked, sour. “You didn’t make friends because... you’d die? Seems like a shitty life, if I were you I’d make any degree of happiness last.”

“Did you even _read_ that bloody gravestone? ‘ _—gone at the hands of a friend, may his spirit forever prosper—_ ‘“

It was like a glass of cool water poured itself Remus’ face. His shoulders slumped.

“You were... No, _no_. If you were in our dorm and didn’t know about _this_ , you would definitely have befriended us. You wanted to avoid that, because of — _that_ — which was why you didn’t like us. But we wouldn’t have done that, we... oh Merlin, _this is why you’re an asshole_.

“But _we wouldn’t do that_! I _know_ Sirius and James, I _know_ me, we would never have betrayed you! This doesn’t make sense! Peter, for Merlin’s sake just... explain. Fully, in detail. I’ll trust you for this okay?”

  
  
“You believe me, then? That we’re in a potential future that I know a fuck-load about? That I’m not pulling your leg?”

Remus swallowed. “I do.” It sounded like an old man stating his final words.

Peter didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to, he didn’t want to, _he didn’t want to._

“I don’t —“

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Remus said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you. And some of the things I said was... wrong to say. It’s not my place. Just, please. Tell me.”

Peter continued to stare at the ground. His breathing went slow, and his pulse heightened. “No.”

Remus tiredly frowned. “ _No?_ Why not, if you know what happened, then why don’t you explain that for me? I’m telling you that I’ll listen. I believe you.”

“I said _no_ in response to something you said earlier, because you got it wrong. I’m not and wasn’t an asshole because I feared that you’d betray me—”

  
  
“—lie—“ 

“ _Okay fine_. New angle. Lupin, to put it simply... well, so you’ve seen my gravestone. That’s _oh well and dandy_ , but the thing is, in this potential future, _I’m not dead_.” He stared at his feet.

“Then _why_ do you have a gravestone?” Remus drew out patiently. 

“I’m not dead, but I have a grave here, because in this reality I’m a _liar_. I have this grave because I faked my death. Why did I fake my death? Lupin, it’s because I was scared. After all, I wasn’t the one who was betrayed.” Peter finally looked up, his face hard and stony, “ _you were_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! 
> 
> Super small chapter, hopefully the next will be longer. This one is just for realisations / discovery / casual breakdowns. Nothing out of the ordinary for this fic so far. 
> 
> Does anyone even read my authors notes? If you’re reading this, hello!
> 
> Have you watched Umbrella Academy? I watched the whole series the other weekend. It’s really good! I especially love Klaus and Vanya; Klaus because he’s a chaotic gay and Vanya because she’s the personification of angst. And gay.
> 
> Tell me how you feel about Vanya I’m curious lol


	6. And Then They Find Themselves Back at Hogwarts Because Everything’s a Walking Cliche p1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being so patient.
> 
> *sort of edited

“You son of a bitch.”

Peter winced.

“You — you son of a bitch!”

The next thing Peter knew, he was clenched in a ball and cradling his cheek. Remus looked down at him, nostrils flared, fists clenched.

He had one hell of a right hook, unfortunately.

It hurt like like hell.

“Oh fantastic,” Remus said coldly. “You fucking — you dick. Of course you did. That does sound like you, doesn’t it Peter? I should have guessed!”

Remus clenched and unclenched his fists. “I should have fucking — _fuck_! You — _fucking_ — I should have guessed that you — I don’t even know what to say. You dick. You fucking _dick_.”

Remus groaned, and then growled and put both of his hands onto his head. He clutched his hair so hard that all blood left his fingers. He fell into a squat. “Fucker,” he muttered. “Convoluted motherfucker.”

“Listen,” Peter said slowly. He licked his lips and looked away, and Remus turned to stare at him, looking distinctly unimpressed. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m being unreasonable?” Remus interrupted, “don’t tell me that — you betrayed us.”

“You don’t even know what the ‘ _betrayal_ ’ was!” Peter gave up his pseudo composure and shouted back at him. “So calm down, okay!”

He clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Okay,” Peter continued after a while when it looked like he was calm enough to hear him out. “Like I said, I know about this reality and in this one, I happened to betray you and your friends.”

“Oh, you just happened to, huh?”

He ignored him. “And, yeah I did that, and it resulted in James and Lily dying and also —“ Peter narrowly avoided getting another punch to the jaw, and he scrambled back. Dirt covered his hands, and he let out a harsh wheeze when Remus’ foot landed itself onto his torso and held him in place with sharp pressure.

“You dick!” Remus hissed. He buried his hand into his pants and withdrew his wand, which he pointed down at Peter’s face.

“Let me continue,” Peter stammered out between harsh breaths.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just... just kill you now! We’ve been nothing but, but _reasonable_ with you at school and — and you, you... I can’t believe you. I can’t believe that in any reality you’d... You’re sick. You know, I was starting to think you weren’t actually that bad, but obviously I was wrong.”

“Let me finish!”

Remus’ facial expression didn’t change. He stayed in place, and Peter harshly breathed in the dirt.

There was a slow silence among panting.

“Fine.” Remus said eventually. “Continue.”

Peter eyed a thin chain that went around Remus’ neck, and then his shoe, and Remus lifted it up ever so slightly so that Peter could breathe. “I — listen, Lupin. I’m being truthful, you know, so you’ll have to hear me out, okay?”

Remus’ expression was still unchanging. He said nothing, and the silence became uncomfortable.

“Peter Pettigrew betrayed you in this reality. I — But me, me... _I_ didn’t betray you.” At that, Remus’ mouth opened slightly so Peter forced out his next words before he could say anything, “no, listen! I didn’t betray you, okay, so don’t blame me for crimes that I didn’t commit! I knew about this world, okay? I knew about everything — well not everything, enough — and so I didn’t betray you and, and I won’t!”

Remus’ wand didn’t waver, and so Peter searched around in his head for something to say.

“You have no right to be, to be angry at me!” He stammered, “here’s what happened in this reality, okay? Listen. Pettigrew, here, was your friend, that’s right, he befriended you and Sirius and James and they were close and then one day James and Lily were in danger and Pettigrew was threatened by the Dark Lord so he thought he had no choice so he betrayed their location —“

“You’re not making anything better for yourself.”

Peter swallowed harshly, “and they... and they died, and so yeah, it was my fault. He did it, it was his — my — his fault. And then, and then he faked his death so he wouldn’t be followed and... But here’s the thing, Lupin. I didn’t do it! I didn’t, _me_ , me _I_ didn’t do it. Peter Pettigrew did it, the _other one_ did it, not me. And I don’t care what you say, I’m not him. I’m not him, okay? I will never be him. When I found out what happened here, I did everything I could to not become him!

“I’m not him. I’m not. I’m Peter, but not that Peter. And _I’ve spent my entire life telling myself I’m not him_ , so I’m standing up for myself here and telling you that the moment you blame me for his actions, knowing this, I’m leaving you here to figure everything out —“ the foot dug into his torso, and Peter scowled. It didn’t hurt, but it was so — _ugh_. He felt his eyes tear up a little bit, and he glared up to meet Remus’ eyes.

Peter tried another angle. “You know what? I’m gonna tell you what I did the moment I found out about this reality, this, this possibility. The possibility of the betrayal and... You’re not dumb, Lupin. Surely you’ve noticed that in our world, I didn’t befriend you. Hell, I couldn’t give less of a,” he coughed, “damn about you people. I stayed away, on purpose, even if it meant that I was fucking alone all the time.

“Even if it was, if it was hard — it wasn’t, I’m fine on my own — I stayed away so that the possibility of me betraying you, well, it’s not even a possibility anymore. You guys don’t trust me, and I knew that you’d never give me the power of your locations if you were ever wanted. I did it for your good, I sacrificed having friends so that you could all —“

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“Shut _up_.”

Peter swallowed.

“Don’t pretend that the reason you didn’t befriend us was because you wanted to ‘save us.’ If that was the reason, you would’ve just not fucking betrayed us.” Remus wand started to shake, “no, be truthful. The reason you didn’t befriend us was because you wanted to save _yourself_.”

Peter shuddered and looked away.

Remus stared down at him. “Everything all leads back to yourself. You knew that if you befriended us, then you’d be threatened, right? You knew that you’d have to either be threatened or have to fake your death or you’d have to be killed by You-Know-Who. You didn’t do anything to help or protect us. You did it to save yourself — that’s all you’ve ever cared about.”

It was like his fight with Lily, but much worse. He didn’t know what to do, or what to say. He knew he couldn’t stay silent, but when he searched for words there was just nothing to pick to say. It was eerily blank, and eerily quiet. Some part of his mind chanted that Remus was wrong, that Peter was right, and to find and to defend himself.

But the rest of his head was quiet and suggested nothing for him to say.

“You’re wrong,” Peter whispered eventually.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

Peter took a deep breath and shoved off Remus’ foot. He inched back and tried to recover his breathing and tried to calm his mind.

Remus looked down his nose at him. He looked ready to walk away.

Somehow Peter couldn’t find himself caring about the possibility. “ _I hate you all_ ,” he murmured.

“ _Oh_?”

“I do. I can’t do anything right, can I? It’s like people have this _preconceived reason_ to hate me. It’s like when Sirius in first year instantly decided that he didn’t like me when no one else seemed to care as much. He said I was bad, and I spent... so much, so much time just going through what I am and who I am and trying to figure out _why_ , because I don’t have the balls to go up to him and ask him myself. But it’s not just that. I try to be the person that people want, you know? I...”

Remus scoffed, Peter kept talking. “You’re right when you say that I do things to benefit myself. But don’t be... don’t be so self-obsessed to say that I didn’t do some of the things I did _just_ for myself! You know what, you’re right. I _lied_. When I said that I didn’t mind not having friends, I said that it was easy, you know.”

He looked down and hid his face from Remus’ view.

“It _wasn’t_ easy. I saw you three together all the time. And I knew that if I just, if I just adopted a few _certain_ qualities and made myself _likeable_ , then I would have friends. I knew it was possible. But I couldn’t, because if I did, then bad things would happen to me and to you guys. And I didn’t want to put up an act. This is me, this is me — this shrivelling, _selfish_ mess and... so, I couldn’t. I, I couldn’t and it was hard, okay? It was...” he sobbed.

Remus seemed to falter out of the corner of his eyes. Peter felt like he was being manipulative on some level, so he tried to rub his face dry and he sucked in a large breath and held it. He wanted to fight on his own verbal merit.

“I wanted company, you know, but I knew that befriending some of you would be destructive and it’s not like anyone outside of your group ever approached me. It was lonely, I was lonely. Sometimes I just wanted to forget that I knew about this reality. I wanted to pretend that I could just approach you all and apologise and everything would be okay and nothing bad would happen.”

The sick thing was that he knew that they would accept his apology. They’d welcome him in with open arms, and Peter would be so irrevocably happy.

Remus looked down at him, still silent, but he looked a little bit less furious.

“I don’t get it,” Remus said eventually. “You said that bad things would happen to us. You wouldn’t have done anything to save us.”

“What would you have expected me to do?”

“I don’t know! You’re the one who knows everything.”

“No I don’t. I was scared. I didn’t know what would happen, so I just decided to not do anything so —“

“Ah, so you’d let James and Lily and, _who knows_ who else, _die_.”

Peter clenched his fists and glared up at him. “ _I spent twelve years resenting you_! I didn’t want anything to do with you. It was when I came to Hogwarts, and we instantly started to fight, that I decided that fuck it. _Fuck_ it, I didn’t care.” He wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care if they died. He would care about _himself_ , because he had been thinking hard, and he had been _angry_ , for way too long already.

Remus finally lowered his wand, but Peter didn’t feel accomplished. It wasn’t a sign of forgiveness.

Remus stared him down. “We didn’t do anything to make you resent us. You picked the fights.”

“Some of them.”

“You decided to hate us before you even met us.”

“I did. I was scared, I was angry, what would you have done?”

Remus licked his lips.

“I don’t forgive you,” he met Peter’s eyes and held eye-contact.

“I don’t expect you to.”

“When we get back, I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“I know.”

“You’re helping me get back. I don’t care if there’s nothing for you there, there are people there for me.”

“I will.”

They didn’t like each other, and tension remained, but both were willing to let it go for the moment.

“I didn’t hurt you that much, did I?” Remus sounded a bit concerned. He eyed the way Peter started to rub his cheek.

“A little bit,” Peter admitted. “But it’ll pass.”

..

“If you ever,” Remus said, “ _ever_ , betray or do anything awful to my friends, I’m going to put you six feet under. I’m not doing anything to you now because I think you have the capability to do right by us. But that can change. And _I’ll_ change with that belief.”

..

They crouched in front of the fireplace in Pettigrew’s house.

“Well,” Peter said, holding a handful of floo powder he had found under Pettigrew’s bed, “time to decide where to go.” Inevitably astute paranoia was something the two Pettigrew’s had in common.

“Diagon Alley, so we can send a letter to Dumbledore.”

“But Remus,” he whined, “he smells _weird_.”

“You never had a problem with his smell before today.” He sounded tired. He probably believed that Peter had said a joke, but he was really just stating the truth.

“Wrong—“

“—Help me make a fire. We can’t use our wands, so I’m trying to use these two sticks here.” He held up two dry sticks he’d picked up off the ground outside.

“Does the floo even work this way? Don’t we need to be attached to a floo network? I don’t think we’re meant to light a fire and hope for the best.”

Remus grinned. “I’ve been reading since before I could walk. I can attach it up to the network, but only for an hour at a time. ”

“Why the fuck would you read about floo network connections?”

“Quick getaways,” he said solemnly. Peter snorted.

“Do we even need floo there in the house?” He didn’t want to stay inside. It was too, well, ew.

“Guess not,” Remus hummed. “We might as well go outside; this place is not the safest place to be right now, what with the glass and everything. I spotted a good area outside earlier, we should go there.”

Peter gave him a thumbs up. He also drew up his cheeks in an overly forced smile.

“Merlin’s saggy balls Peter — that’s terrifying.”

..

He rubbed the two bits of wood together outside underneath a group of trees, beside Peter.

Remus was... scared. Partially, and the rest of him was full of bitter anger and small amounts of thankfulness and sympathy and disgust and anger, more fear, more pining after his friends and homesickness and cold apathy and gentle _bewilderment_ —

Peter was bewildering. Remus didn’t understand him; what with his contradicting moods. He also made a lot more jokes than he had back at Hogwarts. Maybe Peter had always been that way, and Remus just hadn’t noticed.

It wasn’t like Peter didn’t joke at all back then — the occurrence of Alice’s mother’s death came to mind — but it certainly wasn’t as frequently or as lighthearted.

He was like a _chihuahua_ , like one released from a corner, one that could finally move — and that was a shame, really, because Remus didn’t like chihuahuas.

They were too loud — Sirius had found his dislike for them hilarious. “What about wolves?” Sirius had suggested after Remus’ confession one day in potions class. “Are they more your type?”

Remus hadn’t found that very funny, but James sure had. _Wankers_.

Remus could be accomodating for Peter and his chihuahua-ness anyway. He helped Peter when he had a panic attack, and when he had looked like he was going to combust from the amount of panic in his face at times, Remus tried to comfort him, because that was normal and nice and Remus couldn’t do otherwise if he tried.

(Sure, he could have done better at the whole ‘comforting’ thing, but in Remus’ defence he was sort of preoccupied mentally by current events.)

Remus didn’t understand Peter, and Peter didn’t understand him.

Peter couldn’t see the distress at losing his friends, the pure... disgust, self-pity and anger when he was told he’d never see them again because hell, Peter didn’t have any himself. Peter couldn’t understand, because he couldn’t possibly.

Remus didn’t like him.

All Peter was, was someone way too convinced the world was out to get him, and in response he had built up an asshole of a personality to combat it. To protect himself and the people around him, apparently.

So, Peter distanced himself because otherwise he could possibly betray Remus and his friends, which would result in him faking his death or whatever?

Good for him, but he’d get no sympathy from Remus.

He had punched him, because of the look of guilt on his face. He had punched him, because he knew Peter, and if Peter was asked to betray them to save himself — he would do it. He had punched him, because by distancing himself, he admitted to the possibility of betraying them despite knowing the consequences of doing so.

He knew that physical violence was a bad way to deal with problems. He knew that, and that was why he had apologised.

Annoying, was a good word for Peter. Active, he fidgeted a lot. Maybe the word ‘obnoxious’ or ‘angsty.’

Honestly, the amount of raw stress that seemed to emanate from him was _unnecessary_. It was like with every movement he was saying he was in pain, which was why it was a wonder he was so popular with the Hogwarts students. Lily had been particularly furious with that, as she practically spat on the ground Peter walked on. She hadn’t seen the sense in it.

She’d told them the stories, and Remus couldn’t blame her for the fighting between the two of them. But he couldn’t blame Peter either. Remus didn’t have an opinion on it. What happened happened, and they were both right and wrong. There shouldn’t have been more to it, but unfortunately it just seemed like Peter and Lily had the exact personalities to clash and prolong a fight.

It was pretty easy to dislike Peter.

And as for Lily’s issue with Peter — Remus wasn’t even sure they were fighting over the initial clash anymore. It was more of bitter residing feelings they fought over, now.

He missed Lily. And James, and Sirius. They... they accepted him, they were nice to him and they even started to try and become animagus for him. Did he think they’d succeed? They were dumbasses, so no, not really. But the fact that they tried; mum was right when she said he’d find good friends.

And now, _now_ he was stuck with Peter Pettigrew some 15-20 years in the future in a dreamed up reality. Apparently. Did Remus entirely believe what he said? No, Remus still had a niggling feeling that the boy was playing around with him for kicks. The things he said just seemed so bizarre.

But the way Peter talked about everything made Remus believe that partial bit. The things he confessed to... he knew that they weren’t lies, Peter just wasn’t the type to purposely try to get Remus angry with him. The unadulterated horror was hard to fake, Remus knew because of the many times he stood in hallways near professors and tried to imitate it when pranks went off nearby.

Thankfully professors usually looked more at his badge than his face in passing, otherwise he was sure he’d have gotten a lot more detentions.

( _Still_ a better liar than Peter.)

So... Remus believed Peter. Not really. A little bit. Maybe. Even if that meant that by believing him, he was acknowledging that all of his friends were gone, and all of the acceptance over his... illness, was gone, like a small falling leaf near the whomping willow.

At least the whomping willow would probably still be there.

Ah no, no in hindsight maybe that wasn’t a good thing.

Remus... couldn’t find his friends now. If he was in the future, if Peter was right, then they were gone. Not all of them, but some. And the people who weren’t gone-gone — Sirius and Alice and Frank, were as good as. Older. Not his, not really.

He couldn’t stay here. He didn’t belong, he belonged back where his friends were, where people had — despite all former belief, despite fate — accepted him, wolfy side and all.

It wouldn’t happen again. His friends were one in a thousand. Remus was well read, he knew what the average person thought about werewolves. If he wanted to be happy, if he wanted anything, he’d go back.

(If people found out who and what he really was, they’d run for the hills, but Lily, James and Sirius had stayed, because they were _his_.)

The Lily, James and Sirius here weren’t his. Some weren’t even here anymore.

Remus glanced over at Peter and sighed.

He bit his lip, grit his teeth and sighed again. Peter looked up at him, amused, and then turned back to his sticks.

Fuck it.

Fuck it. Remus was lying to himself, he knew that.

He knew that...

They had to leave; Peter... Peter was telling the truth.

(He was so, so angry.)

Remus knew that Peter was telling the truth.

He told himself that Peter wasn’t, that he was lying but. But.

It was so easy to pretend that he knew better than Peter. To act as if he was older, to try and take charge despite not knowing what was going on.

To act like he didn’t believe him.

Initially, he didn’t believe Peter at all. He just couldn’t.

But now, now when things were all quiet and there was nothing but the sound of sticks rubbing together, he realised that somewhere deep down, he did believe him.

Peter wasn’t as much as a good liar as he thought he was, he had a tell. Remus just respectfully ignored it at times. Remus always knew when he lied, because he knew what to look for.

Peter hadn’t lied.

But he had to have. He _lied_ when he said he saw it in a dream. But he _didn’t_ lie when he said he knew where they were, he didn’t lie when he said those things about when he was a kid, or about his reasoning behind who he was. He didn’t lie about his dad or his mum, or about how he knew the Pettigrew in this dimension wasn’t dead, about how he knew he’d betrayed them.

It was the things he didn’t lie about that scared Remus.

Who was Peter Pettigrew?

Remus had always loved fantasy books. Books that changed worlds and gave new perspectives, non-fiction. Cinderella, even if his dad had teased him about it being a girls book. Beauty and the Beast. Sleeping Beauty. Snow White.

But now, when he felt like his world had become the book, he wanted a refund, because really? _Really_?

He gave a particularly hard tap to the two bits of wood, and Peter looked at him briefly.

He wanted to go back. Remus loved Hogwarts! It was fantastic, big and amazing to explore, fascinating and mysterious and he had only started trying to uncover all the mysteries.

(What if he never went back?)

What would happen to Hogwarts? What would his friends think? Would they miss him, Remus Lupin, a werewolf?

They would.

They’d miss him. Wolf and all.

He’d get back. He would, he had to.

He sparked a flame, and Peter jumped up.

..

They had seated themselves under a tree at the edge of the forest surrounding the village. After a fair while, Remus finally lit a spark and Peter bolted to his feet and threw a few large sticks into the small flame, and blowed on it slightly. It fired up.

Peter jumped around the fire, “we did it! Who can muggle? We can.”

“You’re like a _chihuahua_.”

“‘To Hua or not to Hua, that is the question,’” Peter quoted.

Remus blinked. “You were listening to us?”

“You’re all super loud, it was hard not to listen.”

Remus chuckled, his face looked awfully sickly and pale in the light. “Peter... We’re going back.”

Peter nodded sadly and warmed his hands. “Yeah, we’re going back.”

(But of course, just because they said it didn’t mean it was _true_.)

..

“Diagon Alley!” Peter shouted, and seconds later he stumbled out of a grate, ash on the bottom of his pants. Shortly after Remus tumbled out after him, completely clean,

“How?” Peter hissed, looking him up and down.

“Some people have class,” said Remus playfully. “You just have to be born with it.”

“I’ll shove my class up your — oh look! Fortescues has new flavours!” Honestly, one would think the old ice-cream shop would have less flavours in the past. But it was actually larger and the ice-cream was definitely more diverse.

Peter was about to wander over, when a hand halted him. Remus raised an eyebrow. “We need to send a letter. We don’t need ice-cream. And neither of us have money.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do you have money?”

“No.”

Remus sent him a look.

He frowned at Remus. He just wanted to look, that was all! It would only take a second, but the look on Remus’ face made him keep quiet. He was probably pushing it enough just by being there. His face still hurt from that punch earlier.

“Oh shit, Fortescues really does have new flavours,” Remus said after a bit. That shocked a laugh out of Peter.

Peter gave him a very serious look. “We need money for ice-cream.”

“No, we need money to send a letter.”

“Yeah, that’s true too. After we get back I’m getting ice-cream though. We can get both.”

“Right.”

They got a few odd looks, due to their ages. Thankfully it was the weekend when they’d disappeared at Hogwarts, so they didn’t have their uniforms on. If they did they’d have a thousand more problems.

Peter tried walking more snobbishly to imitate someone older than he actually was, but Remus lightly tapped the back of his head and he grudgingly stopped.

He aggressively wiped the ash on his pants while Remus politely ignored his grumbling. A man near Madam Malkin’s looked over them with a disappointed sniff.

Yeah, if he wore his robes they’d probably go aflame after he stumbled out of the fireplace. Thank whatever higher deity for pants.

“Since we need money,” Peter said, “I suggest petty theft. All in favour? Yes? Alright, there’s a pompous asshole down the street who’s been eying me and I want to rob him blind.”

“We’re not stealing!” Remus grabbed his shoulder and his nails lightly pressed into his skin.

“You stole my lampshade, you're not above petty theft.”

“You got it back, didn’t you? You speak like you’ve stolen before.”

“I have!” Peter bragged, “it’s not as easy as you’d think it is, but I’m good at sneaking around. As for why, I’m sure you can guess why I’d need to steal.”

Remus growled lowly at him, met the eyes of the man near Madam Malkin’s and dragged Peter aside to a small brick fence surrounding a tree. They sat on the bricks. “We’re not stealing.”

“You’re a poor guy, surely you’ve stolen before? Again, with my lampshade —“

“You got it back!”

Yeah, and it stunk.

“There was no other same lampshade on the market,” Peter said, aghast. “It was covered in frogs, you know that, and frog pattered fabric doesn’t exactly come cheap. I made and altered that magically myself —“

“—let that go, and no, I _haven’t_. Well alright, maybe I helped James take things from the potions cupboard a few times by creating distractions, but I myself didn’t take anything. I’m a lot of things, but... I’m _not_ stealing, Peter. We’ll ask around.”

“We’re not begging people for money.”

“It won’t be that bad, I doubt they’d even remember us.”

“ _We’re not begging people for money!_ ” Peter shouted. “If _you’re_ not a thief, then _I’m_ not a beggar!”

“What else do you propose we do, then?” Remus hissed. He signalled for Peter to keep it down while his nostrils flared.

“Steal!” Peter whisper-shouted.

“We’re not stealing!”

“Well we’re sure as hell not _begging_. We’re in some weird alternate universe place, Remus. We might as well throw away our morals.”

“You mean _I_ throw away my morals.”

“Better morals than dignity. Lupin. Lupin, you have no idea where we are, do you? If you did, you’d see how something as stupid as — your inability to steal — is.”

“Where are we? Your fucked up dream alternate dimension apparently,” Remus rolled his eyes, obviously disbelieving.

“Have you looked around? Have you noticed anything missing?”

Witches and wizards wandered past, shopping bags over their arms and other luggage items shrunken in pockets. Owls occasionally twittered by and perched on shoulders. Small buzzes and pops echoed out from a tiny local joke shop, and small children gathered around a displayed broom.

In the distance two kids chased after each other.

It was the future, and so much more skin was uncovered then before. Many witches and wizards wore neon colours, as was the fashion in the 90’s, and kids chattered loudly about inane things as they followed after their family members.

People relaxed at Fortescues with ice-creams in their hands. Wizards laughed obnoxiously in pin-striped robes while parents smiled accommodatingly down at their kids.

Out of all of the people, all of the witches and wizards, there was one thing in common. One thing that was missing, that was so different from Remus’ world that it practically screamed in their faces.

“Peter,” Remus said blankly. “May I enquire as to where the _fuck_ the soulmarks are?”

Remus looked absolutely astounded by the face that Peter made in response, and understanding dawned on him.

He leaned out to scrutinise the skin of passerby’s, as if begging for the possibility Peter was lying. Unfortunately for him, Peter was not.

“Ding ding ding,” Peter sang sarcastically. “You’ve finally noticed. You get it, don’t you? We’re not in the universe next door to ours. Nope. We’re somewhere different entirely, somewhere with a convoluted future that is far different from what _you could ever imagine._

“I know who ends up with who here and all that, but do you? I know who gets born, what they’re meant to do... and trust me, you’re going to have to pick up your trousers and filch money from old pompous bastards because _no one is going to fucking do it for you_.”

Peter had known that since he was Mary. Some people had help in the world, and others had zilch. Remus didn’t want to steal because he saw himself as above being a thief.

But Peter. Peter would do almost anything to save his own skin. Even if that meant danger, even if that meant damning the people around him. He was a survivor. Things such as morals and compassion didn’t apply to him — they didn’t need to apply to him.

He wouldn’t beg. He didn’t need the help of strangers.

( _Morals and compassion didn't_ need _to apply to him. Peter saw himself for what he was, and what he was, was stubborn. He wouldn’t back down because of things like morals or compassion, because he was strong. He was a survivor. He was the grit that stayed underneath finger nails. He was unyielding. And sure, Peter had many flaws, and he saw that — but didn’t everyone? Who cared if he didn’t fit into what other people saw as indicative of being a good human being. Peter was strong. He was Peter Pettigrew. And he didn’t need anything else._ )

(— _And Remus needed to grow up. He needed to_ become _a survivor, or he just wouldn’t be able to cut it in this new world. The problem with Remus was that he actually wanted to help the people around him. He had faith. He wanted to cut out a place for himself in the world, even knowing full well what he was, even thinking that he shouldn’t._

_But the world didn’t_ work _that way. It wouldn’t_ kneel down _and let him be fucking happy. Sometimes one needed to be kind, sure. But other times they needed to be the fingernail grit. And Remus didn’t understand that yet._ )

(Peter would _make_ him.)

Remus looked like his entire world had fallen apart. He clenched his teeth. “We can ask around,” he insisted lowly under the weight of the new revelations. He rubbed his stomach, which Peter knew was where his soulmark was.

“I’d prefer not to get noticed,” Peter insisted. “We really don’t need that. I don’t like Dumbledore, for obvious reasons—“

“—you think he smells weird—“

Remus itched his stomach.

“But if I’m going along with that, you’re going along with this—”

“—Peter, fuck off for a second,” Remus muttered.

“What now?”

“I just lost my soulmate.”

Oh right, he would be bothered by that, wouldn’t he? It was honestly sort of annoying. Nonetheless, Peter decided to be nice about it. “You’re going back,” Peter argued softly.

He didn’t understand why Remus cared so much. He didn’t understand why anyone cared about soulmarks so much. Well, he did — they chased after their own happy endings and all that — but he wished they didn’t.

(— _He had been reborn in a tragedy. He just knew it. It was just his luck; no doubt, the universe was laughing at him, and he was one of the unlucky few stuck with a leftover person in the world. Someone outright ghastly and sickly. No doubt, the universe had its eyes on him. No doubt, it expected him to search the world like a lovesick puppy like so many others, only to make fun of him_ —)

They just weren’t worth it.

And besides, they had something more important to deal with. Peter blinked at him.

“Peter.”

“Right. I’ll give you a moment.”

Remus nodded.

People spent their whole lives searching for their soulmates, and even a momentary separation from that goal didn’t tend to end well with people.

Peter... couldn’t really relate, when he had lost his soulmate, he had been very young and therefore it didn’t impact him that much.

He coughed.

He wasn’t interested in romance, he was too busy focused on himself.

( _When he grew up, he didn’t change much from his younger mentality. The ‘romance isn’t worth anything’ mentality. He just became more bitter, more subdued about it. And when his dad started to make fun of him more often, he became less vocal._

_He came to Hogwarts and unalike his peers, he didn’t search for any clues about what had happened to his soulmate on the train. They were dead, who cared? He didn’t need to look into it. Fact of the matter was that faded soulmarks equaled dead soulmates._ Everyone _knew that._ )

(Soulmarks didn’t always appear on both or all halves at the same time anyway, so it was likely he’d never find out who he had had due to the sheer outnumbering probability that it had never formed on them before they kicked it. Besides. He didn’t need a soulmate. Peter was fine by himself.)

Remus had never been too open about his soulmark; he gave a simple description and spent his time giving fun excuses to not show it. Peter personally thought it was because he must have a large nasty scar intersecting it or something, and he didn’t want to explain that away. So Peter didn’t question it, and whenever it was brought up, he politely tuned conversation out and looked away. It wasn’t any of his business and — _fuck_ — he just didn’t care.

(— _it was just his luck_ —)

But just because he didn’t show his mark didn’t mean Remus didn’t care about it; and Remus’ reaction to it now made that fact obvious. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders pushed into himself.

He didn’t deal with the loss well; maybe he saw his soulmate as someone who accepted him — who could possibly accept him — and the loss hurt hard. Or maybe he was just really horny.

Hey, Peter didn’t know. But teenagers were teenagers, right? There were many answers Peter could speculate about. About why Remus cared so much.

Maybe he was thinking about the possibility of their death while he was gone.

Maybe he was trying to imagine if in the possibility he ever got back, he would be years their senior, or them years his.

Maybe he was wondering if he’d ever get back to try and find them again.

Remus’ soulmate was wandering around in that old dimension, as clueless and careless as ever. Peter didn’t understand why Remus cared so much, it wasn’t like Remus and his soulmate had found each other, so his soulmate wouldn’t care or know enough to worry. And Peter knew that Remus hadn’t found his match, otherwise his roommates would have been very vocal about it.

Peter couldn’t possibly imagine who Remus’ soulmate could be. He’d have pinned it for Sirius, but Sirius was taken by Snape — yeah, still weird whenever he thought about that — so that was out of the basket.

The situation — the dimension travelling — seemed to dawn on Remus in that moment; not that it hadn’t before.

“What about yours? Aren’t you worried about your soulmate?” Remus asked after a couple of minutes.

Peter laughed, bitter. “Mine’s dead, did you forget?”

“This is a new alternate universe. They could, uh, be alive.”

“Nah, mines six feet under either way, I’m sure. And even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t chase after them, because I never knew who they were. Nor do I _care_ about who they were.”

Remus licked his lips and fidgeted with his hands. He looked oddly vulnerable. “Does it ever get better?” To be so far away from them, he didn’t say aloud.

Peter met his eyes. “I don’t know. But when we get back, you’ll find them again. It’s not like yours is dead.” Remus looked nervous, and Peter winced.

“I miss them,” Remus admitted.

“It’s been not even a day.”

“I mean this from the bottom of my heart Peter; go fuck yourself.”

Peter frowned. “I’d rather not.”

  
There was a short pause.

“Merlin I wish I had access to the prefect bathroom right now. I’m so tired.”

Peter’s eyes twinkled, “I wish we had ice-cream!”

“Maybe. But only when we get back, and if we have enough spare change.”

“After we get back from robbing these bitches!”

“Peter, please.”

..

“Okay but I still say ‘let’s empty his wallet.’” The grumpy wizard was still glaring at him.

“If we’re doing this,” Remus hissed, “we’re only taking a few knuts. I don’t care what he looks like, I’d prefer to not do this, severely or not, based off of appearance. It’s just not right.”

“If we don’t get enough money, then we can’t get ice-cream. And I also want a wand holster while we’re here. My old one is fraying a bit, see this?” He held it up. “There’s a bit of lint attached at the end. Lint is coming out of my wand holster, Remus — I cant live like this.”

“We don’t want to be noticed. We’re, and I cannot stress this enough, doing this quickly and only getting what we need. We’re sending a letter, a single letter. We, unfortunately, don’t need ice-cream.”

Peter grinned teasingly, “I know, just messing with you.”

“Could you... not?”

He held up both his hands in surrender.

..

“How,” Peter said slowly, “the fuck?”

Remus held up a handful of knuts. “Petty theft, obviously. I’m not proud of it.”

“You’re a fucking master!”

“I’m a _fucking_ criminal.”

Peter laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “And that’s what’s going to ensure our survival. Now c’mon, the post office is this way.”

Remus had managed to get a lot more than Peter, and Peter didn’t have a clue how. Peter had five knuts, Remus had around twenty and Peter had been doing it for years so he was aghast. Remus didn’t look proud of himself at all, so Peter decided to not bring it up.

“Diagon is so much bigger then before,” Remus muttered as they wandered down the street, winnings in tow. He pointed to a small bright shop, the sign was partially concealed by a large tree. “There used to be a shop there called ‘Driftwood Drawings.’”

“Art stores don’t last long,” Peter said, he was genuinely sad about it. “What’s it been replaced by — oh shit, yeah, that’s definitely a sex shop.”

They avoided looking at it as they passed by.

Peter noticed a familiar black and white poster and subtly changed their path. He didn’t want Remus to see that.

“I’ll miss the art store,” Remus mumbled. “I’ll spend a lot of money there when we get back.”

“I’ll steal a few things too,” Peter said in the same sad tone.

“Peter.”

“Oh shush.”

Remus hummed, still unamused.

The bell twinkled as they entered, and Peter picked out a cheap letter set and Remus looked over the quills and inks.

Peter hoped Dumbledore had chosen a new fragrance when they saw him again. He also, for other reasons, didn’t want to see Dumbledore again in the first place. He was always a manipulative old fart, and Peter didn’t want any part in whatever Dumbledore was up to.

(But he decided to go along with Remus’ plan anyway, because he reckoned it was the only way to calm him down. Nonetheless, he mourned the fact that he didn’t have enough money for fake ID’s. Not that he knew how much they cost, but he could guess, and since it was from Knockturn they’d definitely be expensive.)

The second the old man tried to make Peter a part of any grand plot, he was grabbing the man’s bird and using it to set fire to Dumbledore’s robes. So what if he’d go to a magical prison? It was better than dying a martyr for some old fart pulling on puppet strings.

Peter was about to write something similar to, ‘hello it’s us,’ when Remus must’ve caught the look in his eye and took it from where it was about to hit the paper. Peter received a withering glare.

‘ _Dear Professor Dumbledore,_ ’ Remus wrote in fluid neat script that Peter was a little bit jealous of, ‘ _We’re in an alarming situation and are in need of dire help._ ’

“Why don’t you write ‘we’re posh old fools’ in there too, and just be done with it?”

“It’s called being respectful,” Remus said a little bit teasingly. “I doubt we’ll be taken seriously without respect.”

Peter was tempted to draw a dick in the corner just to fuck with Remus. He didn’t care if Dumbledore didn’t reply, or deemed the message a prank. He would prefer to get IDs, hell, he even would prefer to go find the well that he knew existed in Australia, because...

( _Because_ ,—)

‘ _We have unfortunately been involved in a magical incident in an alternate dimension, and have therefore been misplaced here. We would accept any help you deem fit, as we know you’re a very intelligent wizard, and we were familiar with you in aforementioned alternate dimension._ ’

“Fuck yeah, butter him up.”

“I’m not ‘buttering him up,’ I’m being truthful.”

“You’re buttering him up.”

“Fine, I’m buttering him up.”

‘ _Our names are —_ ‘

“Woah!” Peter interrupted, “let’s not be hasty here! I’m literally fake-dead in this reality, I don’t need my name out there!”

“Why not? You’re dead, and apparently you’ve died a hero. Even if you did betray us. Bastard. Dumbledore isn’t going to dislike you because for all he knows you were a good person in this dimension.”

“Well —“

‘ _Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin_.’

“Bastard,” Peter hissed.

‘ _We were fifth year students at Hogwarts in Gryffindor house. The travel here was unintentional, and we’re unsure as to how to get back. We were hoping that you would have an idea of how to help us, or if you could possibly advise us on how to proceed from this point forward._

‘ _If it’s in your best interests, we’d love to extend further on the situation in person and as soon as possible. We await your owl_.’

Peter grinned. “We await your Phoenix, anyway.”

‘ _Sincerely, Remus Lupin._ ’

“Why didn’t you include my name there?” Peter asked, “I helped.”

“Did you? Your name is already mentioned, he knows you’re here.”

He rolled his eyes. Remus was oddly petty.

They took it to the desk, paid with half of the knuts they hadn’t already spent on the quill, ink, or the letter, and watched the owl take flight.

Remus was oddly enough fine to be around, even if they did argue a lot. When he wasn’t at Hogwarts, or his house, he felt like there were no weights on his shoulders. He felt free. He took a deep breath and let it slowly out.

Remus sighed. “You don’t happen to know any places to stay the night or eat do you, oh all-knowing-one?”

There was a cave in Hogsmead wasn’t there? But fuck it all if Peter was living in a cave. Due to the recent markings on Peter’s grave and the new posters in the street, they were somewhere in the third book.Chances were they wouldn’t be in the cave by themselves.

None of the people in Diagon Alley were Hogwarts age, so everyone was at school.Including Remus Lupin from this dimension. Remus’ house therefore, must be free. But Peter didn’t have the foggiest clue of where that was, and they couldn’t live at Peter’s because somebody kicked in the windows — Peter did that, Peter kicked in the windows — and. Well, just no way in fucking hell was he ever going back to that craphole.

“You have a house, don’t you?”

“Small problem with that, I’m most likely living in it.”

“Nah. You’re at Hogwarts.”

Horror overtook Remus’ face. “I never graduated? Shit, I’m not the groundskeeper am I?”

Peter blinked. “You’re a teacher. Strange that didn’t click for you.”

“I can’t be a teacher,” Remus said to him in a quiet, furious whisper.

“Dumbledore literally hires everyone. He hired that knife teacher, remember?”

“‘Knife-teacher’ was bloody fantastic, actually. I’m — I can’t be a teacher.”

While paying attention to the conversation, at the back of his head, Peter distantly realised he hadn’t even told Remus about Harry yet.

Well, shit. Maybe later.

He’d actually skimped a lot on the details. Before, Remus had asked about where Peter thought they were and Peter had casually skipped over the details entirely in favour of validating his claim of knowing, through what amounted to ‘I know about here I dreamed about it.’ Which was, in hindsight, not the best move.

He’d go for the ‘small bits of information at a time’ approach then.

“Tell that to your alternate self. It’s good for us because we get to live in your house.”

“But my parents... oh. Right. They’re probably not here anymore, are they?”

“Ah. I’m sorry,” Peter mumbled genuinely.

Today must’ve really been the worst for Remus Lupin.

Cold dread cloaked Remus’ face. “ _I hate this_.”

“I know.”

“I want to go back.”

Peter understood. “I know. But you can’t, not right now. Now you’ve got to live, because no one else can do it for you, and you’re not going to fucking give up just because the universe said so. You don’t deserve that, and you don’t _get to give_ the universe that _satisfaction_.”

Remus clenched and unclenched his fists. He looked away.

“It’s... my house is small, but it should work. Chances are I haven’t moved house since my family has owned one for decades. My great-grandad made it back in the 1800’s. I have a key around my neck, it should match the lock.”

Peter didn’t question the convenience of the key. Maybe it was a memento, a way to keep his parents close to his heart. Peter couldn’t guess any other reason as to why he carried it around Hogwarts. It wasn’t showing on Remus, it must’ve been tucked under his two layers of clothes.

“It won’t get better,” he both stated it outright and answered the question from earlier. “But it’ll get easier.”

Remus swallowed. “I know.”

..

They used their remaining knuts for floo-powder by the fireplaces — they didn’t have enough for ice-cream — and the next thing they knew they were in a small grate hidden behind some trees and rocks and close enough to Remus’ house.

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just go inside and use that fireplace instead of using this one.”

“I’m very good at using the floo and altering it, no doubt older me would have intruder alarms. Besides, this has been here for years, my parents use...d it for house guests, since my mum jumped up and freaked out whenever people popped up in the fireplace unannounced.”

Gee, Peter wondered why. Having a werewolf attacking your home when your kid was young, and then infecting them must’ve really instigated a lot of trauma.

“You need someone to garden here,” Peter muttered on the way up the footpath. “It’s awfully... blank.”

“No doubt I’m too busy working.” He trudged towards the front door and Peter followed behind him. Remus didn’t look back to check to see if he was following.

“You’ll only be at Hogwarts for a year, and you started... I don’t know what time exactly. Earlier. You could have planted flowers. Flowers are fantastic.”

“Your garden wasn’t exactly front magazine cover material either.”

Peter scrunched up his nose. “Well, my self here is an ugly rat-man who’s practically homeless and laying low so no one notices he’s not as dead as they think he is. I doubt he’s ever watered a flower a day in his life.” 

“I might punch your other self in the face if I see him.”

“Oh, go ahead. I don’t look that much like him, so I don’t know if you’re going to get much satisfaction.”

“Oh I assure you, I will. Don’t think I really care if he looks like you or not, he sounds like an asshole, and as the guy who apparently somehow betrayed me and my friends — he’s getting his dick kicked.”

“Fun.”

“My reasoning is that my other self probably would do the same if he knew Pettigrew was alive. Does he? No? Yeah, then I’m doing good in this world. I’m just helping my other self out in exchange for us staying in my — his, house.”

Or Remus was going a bit stir crazy, which was understandable. It was better than him taking it out on the Peter next to him, so he wouldn’t protest as much as he knew he could.

Self-preservation for the win.

“I might get a kick in too,” Peter said after a while. “He’s a bit of a dumbass.”

“You’re not building a case for yourself.” Remus took the key from out of his clothes and put it in the lock. There was a quick light that went over Remus’ hand, which eventually faded and the door clicked open. It must’ve been verification.

“He’s not me! Why would I defend him?”

“Well, you know. Same childhood, same house — I think, you were in Gryffindor too here weren’t you, I saw a flag above your bed — so yeah, basically you. It’s weird you’re not defending yourself.”

“He’s not me! I’m not him! My mum died when I was a kid, so you know, we grew up a little bit differently. And he did all this — all that — and I, me, didn’t do it so! I’m! _Not_ him.

Remus snorted. “You could have been him.”

“But I wasn’t! Trust me, I hold no sympathy for the guy. In fact, I don’t like him either.”

Peter scowled, and crossed his arms childishly. Remus shook his head with — was that amusement? — and faced the inside of his house. His small smile instantly melted, and solemn solitude replaced it.

“Has it changed a lot?” Peter asked.

Two old worn-out chairs sat in front of an unlit fireplace. Beige and cream tiles decorated the sides of a very small kitchen, where glass cabinets displayed simple plates and the occasional glass ornament.

A large worn rug covered the living room, a dark blue colour that was partially stained in places but otherwise looked well taken care of. The walls were an off-white, and bits of paint were peeling off in some of the corners, which revealed a light shade of green.

“No,” he said softly. “It hasn’t changed at all.”

..

“Bean time!” Peter had searched the kitchen for food and had come out with sealed tins at the very back of his cupboard. All were covered in a thick veil of dust.

“Beans are disgusting,” Remus said.

“Then why do you have them?”

Remus grabbed a can and turned it over. He winced when dust stuck to his fingers. “Well, either my alternate self has deficient taste buds or... these are twenty years old.”

Peter stared at the tin.

“I’m going to eat them.”

“You better fucking not.”

They didn’t eat the beans.

..

They didn’t sleep in the guest bedroom or the main bedroom. Remus didn’t feel comfortable with it, and Peter just followed his lead.

They both slept on the armchairs, which were pushed down to make them makeshift beds, although slightly slanted. When Peter heard soft crying, he didn’t say anything.

(Peter might have cried a bit too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment/kudos/correct me on grammar, etc. I’m sort of awful with remembering things, so any corrections or reminders would be amazing.
> 
> NOTICE: I’d like a beta — if anyone is interested, let me know.


	7. And Then They Find Themselves Back at Hogwarts Because Everything’s a Walking Cliche p2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better.
> 
> *somewhat edited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m. Trying to make their induction into Hogwarts unique. But there are many fics like this out there, so please bare with me.

Once upon a time, on the day he received his soul mark, he’d told himself that he’d give the universe no choice but to free him from his fate. Not in those words exactly, but similar enough words.

And now he was somewhere where his life  _ wasn’t guaranteed to end in failure _ . He was in a place where he was  _ free _ . He had had a place before, a shitty place, and now he had a  _ new _ one. A  _ new _ place where he didn’t have to betray his friends or work for a dark lord. Fuck, he didn’t have to have any contact with dark forces at all.

Knowing about what was going to happen to the people and the world around him was useful. Knowing about what was going to happen to  _ himself _ was frustrating. But now, he didn’t have a clue! Nada. Oh, he knew what would happen with Harry, and Dumbledore and the prophecy and all that, but he knew nothing about his own fate. It was  _ beautiful _ .

It was as he watched Remus sleep that he fully started to realize that.

He was free. He didn’t have to watch his footsteps anymore, because now, he didn’t know the consequences of  _ not _ doing so. 

Now, Peter wasn’t anyone that ‘could have been’ or ‘could be.’ His path didn’t end in the possibility of betrayal and suffering and spending thirteen years as a rat. Peter was his own person because  _ there was another one of him _ _ to take his place. _

Someone was a rat, and it wasn’t him. He was Peter, but he wasn’t that Peter.

And, not to mention —

(Dad, was dead.)

Six feet under.

( _ He wasn’t happy about it. Not really, but he didn’t know why. He had never liked the guy. He only felt relief. _ )

He didn’t want to go back (to that house) and have to watch his back again.

(Peter hadn’t wanted him to die.)

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave this new dimension. Even if things weren’t  _ perfect _ , things were  _ better _ .

It was like a fucked up version of a holiday. But a good one.  _ A fucked up one, but a good one _ .

(It was less lonely. Remus was stuck with him. He should have felt guilty for feeling that way, for being happy that he wasn’t the only one stuck here, but he wasn’t.)

..

For as long as he could remember, there had been something in the back of his head that seemed to count down in indecipherable increments. It was only as it slowed down, however, that he realised it was there. It was like a heartbeat. It slowed down from its fast pace, and it felt  _ liberating _ .

Peter watched Remus mumble something wordless in his sleep. 

How long had it been there, exactly?

..

Peter fidgeted with the moth-eaten blanket over his shoulders and mourned the cramps he’d feel in the morning. The chair he was on was  _ not _ comfortable.

Remus hadn’t wanted them to sleep in the beds, presumedly because he’d feel weird if people disturbed the spaces of his... ahh. Peter’s brain was tired. 

Well, he didn’t know, but the chair was fine, he guessed.

Damn did his back and feet hurt.

..

_ Peter felt indescribable. _

..

He fell asleep.

..

“They were good parents.”

The two graves were well cared for and placed on a sweet little hill nearby the house, underneath a large tree with long branches.

Peter had woken up to find the other chair bare, only to look out the window in the living room to see Remus standing in front of two stones within walking distance.

When Peter stood beside him, rubbing his eyes, he felt a sense of déjà vu.

Remus had prominent eye-bags.

Peter didn’t say anything.

“They... weren’t always the best, but they tried hard. I wonder how they died.”

Peter hummed. “Together,” he said eventually. The dates aligned that way. 

“I wonder if they died in the war.”

Peter re-read the date on the tombstones. 1981.

“They didn’t.”

“How do you figure?” Remus asked.

“The war ended the year before that.”

“Oh... it’s.  _ Oh _ .”

Peter found it strange that Remus hadn’t noticed how the general populace had changed. In Diagon, the wizards and witches were a lot less paranoid. Other things were different too; like the larger selection of ice-cream. But Remus also hadn’t noticed the lack of soul marks until Peter’d pointed it out, so he’d most likely just been distracted.

“It’s been over for thirteen years now.”

Remus’ first real smile spread across his face. “You’re not pulling my leg?”

“Nah.”

“That’s good,” Remus smile turned softer as he looked over the two graves. “I thought it’d never end.” The tree above them moved cheerily in the wind.

..

They didn’t know what happened to Remus’ parents. The graves didn’t mention anything, and they couldn’t find anything on the subject when they went back to the house later.

Then, after a breakfast which consisted of canned spaghetti, Remus walked outside to the graves again while Peter trailed after him.

..

There was a presence Peter felt at the back of his neck, and he sprung around in alarm. Remus quickly span around too, only slightly behind him.

A wizened old man let go of a Phoenix. Peter scrunched up his nose. Yuck, he smelt like old people. Alright, so thinking that wasn’t  _ mature _ , but  _ come on. _

“Dumbledore!” Remus lit up. “You got the letter.”

Dumbledore looked older than ever. He stood silently with his back ever so slightly hunched. His face was wrinkled and marked, yet it carried a sort of grace that was rare to find.

The look he gave the two was similar to both joy, grief, and pity. Peter fidgeted under the weight of it.

“Remus, my boy. And... Mr Pettigrew. You look a bit different, perhaps my memory has gone foggy in my old age. I must say, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Although unfortunately, the circumstances are rather undesirable.” His elderly gaze swept over the graves, and sad understanding filled his face.

Peter silently wondered how he had found them.

“So you believe us?” Remus sounded hopeful, “I — sir, would you please help us? We don’t know what to do, and any help would be appreciated. I... don’t know how we got here, and I barely know what’s going on.”

Dumbledore was silent for a while when a low sigh escaped him. He waved a wand and a bronze and red armchair appeared beside him. He sat down, then waved his wand again and two identical chairs appeared right in front of their feet.

Remus sat down and after a shut of hesitation Peter awkwardly and silently followed his lead.

“My boys. Hogwarts is open to any students in need, you mustn’t ever forget.”

Peter stayed quiet. Dumbledore carried a sort of grace that stifled the part of Peter that liked to talk. He felt like he had to watch himself. It was a subconscious kind of feeling, which came with unease.

Before Dumbledore, he twiddled his thumbs and avoided eye contact.

And... he decided that staying quiet was okay.

He had a lot of things to say,

But.

Remus’ face. Usually, in these sorts of situations, Peter could pull through and say something anyway. Not usually — he could. But Remus looked so  _ hopeful _ . It wasn’t the faint smile Peter kept receiving, or the usual subtle disapproving looks or skepticism. 

Remus’ face was completely at ease. He looked sure of himself and comfortable, and Dumbledore had barely done anything but show up so far. 

So even if Peter wanted to say something, he didn’t. That’d just be  _ cruel _ . 

Something in Peter told him to ‘be quiet,’ and ‘wait your turn.’ So he did. And it was weird, for him, to listen to that kind of urging voice from his gut. 

Remus swallowed. “You... you don’t know how to get us back? No ways at all?”

The old man shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“What should we do?” Remus muttered. 

“If you come to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said accommodatingly, “you’ll find that the library is more useful than you may think.”

Oh sure, and they wouldn’t at all bump into Harry Potter and fuck up the timeline. Peter wanted to scream. He wanted to drag Remus away and say ‘no, we can’t do this. We  _ can’t—‘ _

“If... we attend, then we’ll find a way home?”

Dumbledore smiled. “All is possible if one simply tries hard enough.”

Remus hesitated. “And you’ll accept me, even with my... circumstances?”

“I’ve accepted you once before. There’s no reason as to why I wouldn’t do it again.”

Peter found it suspicious the old man didn’t even question the validity of their circumstances. Dumbledore was too trusting, too welcoming. He bit the inside of his cheek hard and tasted metal.

Dumbledore wasn’t trying to inform them, either. If Peter didn’t already know the fate of the world and all that, then they would both know jack shit other than the fact they got misplaced. Dumbledore must’ve assumed the place they came from was similar or identical enough to the one they were in now, and so they were the same Remus and Peter he had once known.

He didn’t know how Dumbledore still managed to assume that despite Peter’s dissimilar appearance, Peter had  _ seen _ the photos, but go figure.

Maybe Dumbledore knew something was off. Scratch that, he most probably definitely did. But for some reason,  _ he was still choosing to help them. _

“Thank you, you’re very generous.”

Remus looked hopeful, for the first time in a while. When Dumbledore held out his arms towards them, Peter could practically feel his stomach twisting and turning, but at the same time, it saw validation in Remus’ expression. Peter felt sick and accomplished — as if he himself was the one to give out the invitation of security — in a very odd mix.

Dumbledore looked behind him at the beaten up house, with the terrible gardens, and sighed to himself. Peter noticed this as ‘an old person being sentimental’ moment, so he took the lapse in concentration as a lifeline and quickly motioned to grab Remus's attention.

’Say as little as possible,’ he mouthed to Remus. Luckily enough, Remus looked like he understood what Peter said.

‘Why?’ Was the mouthed response Peter got back.

’Trust me.’

Remus slowly nodded. 

Dumbledore took a few more seconds to look over the house, then turned back around to face them with sadness in his eyes. Peter stared at his nose. “They were good people,” was what he said eventually. “I knew your father. A very studious student, that one.”

Remus swallowed. “Do you know what happened to them?”

“It was the pox. Alas, it was a tragedy to see them go. Now, if you gentleman would please grab a hold of my arms. You have all of your belongings on you?”

Remus looked glum.

They didn’t have any belongings. Hell, they hadn’t even showered since they came over. Remus, after a short sad pause, told him as such.

Remus politely gripped Dumbledore’s wrist, and Peter tugged on his sleeve with a small pout. They blinked and during that space of time it felt like they were being shoved down a very tiny pipe, and then seconds later they found themselves in a large office. Peter let go immediately and took a few steps back. 

Gah. He didn’t want to be here. He swallowed back bile from the short rough journey.

..

Peter was a bit disappointed with the office. He had never been inside, but he had always known the gist of what it was supposed to look like. 

If he had an office like this, he’d have a swing instead of a chair, because no one would’ve been able to stop him. 

But nope, Dumbledore settled for his bits and bobs. Not even cool ones; just boring spiky twisty ones. Peter steadily avoided Dumbledore’s eyes as he walked around examining them.

Some people liked ‘mysterious’ as an aesthetic, which Peter had personally never understood. Why have a boring blank spiky minimalist canvas of a monstrosity, when you could hang bright baubles and pieces from the walls and the ceiling and have a different kind of monstrosity altogether?

Remus didn’t take the time to look over the area, as if he was familiar with it. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he was, what with him being a prefect and all. 

“Well then,” Dumbledore addressed the room. “If you’re to attend Hogwarts again, then I think it’s only fair that you are to be sorted again.” Peter scrunched up his nose in annoyance.

Fawkes tittered on his perch and looked down his beak at Peter. He awkwardly waved to the bird, before he placed an object back onto the shelf and sat down on an armchair nearby.

“You’ve seen this before,” Dumbledore smiled kindly. He reached under his desk and withdrew the sorting hat, “I quite enjoy conversing with it. A very fascinating hat, don’t you agree?”

“We’re both in Gryffindor,” Remus argued.

They were encouraged to try it on, and surely enough, they got the same house once again. Apparently, they had to because they were new students of the school. The hat had taken one look at Peter’s mind, sighed, and lazily drawled out its decision. Peter flipped it off when Dumbledore turned around to put it back.

“My own house,” Dumbledore informed them uselessly because they already knew that. “A good place to find friends.”

“We don’t need to make any here. We just need to access the library,” Remus said.

Dumbledore looked sadder at that than ever. “Indeed. But I believe that it would be best for you to make good relationships while you can. You’ll find that your friends never truly leave you.”

Peter wondered if that was what Dumbledore told himself in the mirror in the morning every day to persuade himself that it wasn’t  _ really _ that bad that he might have killed his sister.

“Fifth year?” Dumbledore guessed.

He wrote out a few things in thought while Remus and Peter ignored eye-contact. 

“I will have to inform the ministry about you.”

Peter froze. “You can’t do that,” he said. “They’re barmy old toads.” It was the first sentence he had directed at Dumbledore.

They’d be placed in some tight cell in the department of ministries faster than you could say that long word from Mary Poppins.

Dumbledore’s facial expression didn’t change in the slightest.

“Now now, the ministry may very well be able to help the two of you.”

“ _ Well _ ,” Peter pressed. “They're as capable of ruining everything for us as much as they’re capable of helping us. Can you even promise that you’ll protect us if something bad happens? Why should we just stay here? It’s not like there are no libraries anywhere else.” He purposefully didn’t look over at Remus.

“I promise,” was all he said in reply. Peter blinked in his general direction owlishly, avoiding his eyes. That was  _ frighteningly _ easy.

“Fine,” Peter said momentarily. “Fine,” he repeated. “I agree to stay here,” because he hadn’t said it before, “— but if we or you or the ministry don’t find a way to get us back by the end of it, If I want to leave, no one is stopping me. Not you, not the ministry, not Merlin himself.”

Remus, surprisingly, agreed to that. “If nothing in Britain can help,” Remus strongly said, “then we’ll search the whole world for a way back.”

Peter paused and hesitantly nodded.

Dumbledore kindly acceded. “I should’ve realized that no one could keep a Gryffindor in place.”

They had a quiet conversation which amounted to nothing more than smoothing over odds and ends like classes and OWL scores, new temporary identities (because apparently having the same names as people from this dimension was a bad idea) and sleeping arrangements when a red-haired boy walked in briskly after knocking on the door.

“Professor Dumbledore, you sent for me?” Percy held up a smooth letter, and Peter wondered when the hell Dumbledore had sent that. He could have written it before but — no. Shit, he would have, wouldn’t he?

_ Coot _ .

They were handed off to Percy with a quick order to show them to their new dorm rooms, and Percy sent them curious glances as they prepared to walk to the common room. Just as they were about to leave, Peter turned around and finally met Dumbledore’s fabled, twinkling eyes. 

He stared him down, up until Remus grabbed Peter’s shoulder and pulled him through the door. 

..

The two of them received curious looks from students as they walked through the hallways, and Peter was both surprised people noticed them at all (especially when there were so many students at Hogwarts) and also  _ annoyed _ because he  _ liked to _ blend into the background, and this wasn’t doing him any favours. Well alright, maybe he didn’t like blending in, but  _ now _ it would have been useful.

Remus didn’t seem to notice any of the looks, which Peter guessed was either because he was a very good actor, or because he simply didn’t notice the difference when the marauders had been so popular with the student population before. Or maybe he was just clueless, Peter didn’t know. He was fidgeting with his wand, actually, so maybe he did notice?

“As you’ve heard earlier,” Percy said as they were lead down a particularly windy corridor, “I’m Percy Weasley, a prefect from Gryffindor house. I’m glad you both ended up in Gryffindor, you’ll find it’s a magnificent house, it’s got a lot of history.”

It was biased, but an alright assessment. Peter and Remus exchanged looks and both sent Percy awkward smiles, which he didn’t see as he was focusing on navigating them through the packed hallways.

“So I must say, I’m curious. What are your names, and why such the late transfer?”

Remus and Peter met eyes and put the cover story they had made minutes earlier with Dumbledore into action.

“I’m Peter Grettigrew,” Peter said proudly, doing his absolute best to not break out into snickers. Remus had looked disappointed when Dumbledore had given in to his name choice, although Remus had at least managed to persuade the old man into not giving Peter the first name ‘Greta.’ 

Peter was proud. After all, he got the best new name out of the two of them.

(Peter was gonna be fucking terrible at this infiltration thing, wasn’t he?)

“My parents are muggles and they’re dead and long story short, now I’m here,” both saying a lot and nothing at all. Simple cover story. He relied on people not pushing for more information — he was a shit actor. Sure, he could lie well — sometimes — but his acting abilities? Garbage.

“I’m... Wolfe Jenkins.” the absolute disgust he said his name in did send Peter into snickers, and Percy looked over them oddly.

“He was a bit unfortunate with his name,” Peter explained between gasps for air. Remus glared at him, and lightly slapped his shoulder. “We, ha, we love him all the same — ow!”

First, Peter had suggested the name Gelga Gufflepuff (as a bad throwaway joke), for Remus, but Remus, to quote, said “I’ll take anything other than that.”

Wolfe Jenkins was the next name suggested; Dumbledore must’ve had a hidden nefarious streak, as he’d immediately conceded to it. Despite Remus trying to take back what he just said.

After it had been officially chosen, Remus had just looked resigned.

Wolfe Jenkins and Peter Grettigrew. His ribs were hurting from trying not to laugh, and Remus quickly covered for him by giving his own shitty-made-an-hour-ago-backstory. 

“My parents also passed away. They were homeschooling me and when they passed, Dumbledore recommended that I attend here. You must be a good prefect to get chosen to introduce us to the Gryffindor house.”

What an odd coincidence that two transfer students, rarely seen one at a time, came in on the same year at the same time with similar backstories but different families. Peter had almost said he wouldn’t mind being placed in the same family as Remus, but Remus’ face had made him drop the idea.

Percy bristled with pride. “I hope so, it’s an honour to represent my house. I’m sorry about your parents.”

They walked through winding corridors and around a sliding wall. The fat lady curiously looked over them.

“Alright, we’re here. We have a password system that changes every week, so make sure you keep up to date on the newest passwords, which are posted on the board in the common room. Just say the password, which today is ‘Glory,’ and the fat lady will swing aside and let you enter. Thank you,” he said absently to the portrait as she moved while he explained.

A couple of heads turned to absently look in their direction, but they paused in place and more joined them when they noticed the unfamiliar faces. Remus straightened his new Hogwarts tie in an awkward way which easily drew attention to it.

“Wow, you look just like the professor,” a redhead chimed from the back. “My my, what a surprise —“

“—Never thought he was the type to have kids!”

Remus and, he was going to continue to refer to their older version of themselves as their last names, Lupin, probably had the exact same scars on their faces and hands, although Remus lacked a few. Nonetheless, Peter had been hoping that they wouldn’t bring up the resemblance.

“Never thought I was the type to have been sired by a Hogwarts professor.” And then, in a lower voice to Percy. “So, whereabouts is the dorm..?”

The redheads chuckled.

“Ah, sorry about that.” George jogged over before Percy could lead them anywhere, and he scratched the back of his head. “You see, we don’t get a lot of transfers.”

Fred put an arm around George’s shoulders. “We got one a few years back, but she’s a Puff. Must say, you really do look identical to the professor. You met him yet?”

“No,” Remus said as Percy lead them through the room to the stairs. The twins followed them while Gryffindors from all angles stared. “What an odd coincidence.”

Oh sure, Peter was the bad liar. But yet, no one fucking tried to get more information out of that and Peter sniffed indignantly to himself. If it were Peter, they’d have questioned him!

“Maybe you're his lost dwarf twin,” George chimed sympathetically.

“Star crossed lover?” Fred suggested.

“Cousin.”

“Brother—“

George smirked. “Bastard.”

“—his weird sentient kink—,” Percy turned around, scandalized with one foot on the first stair. Fred continued in a slightly faster tone, “oh, by the way, I’m Gred Weasley and this is Forge Weasley. Now, you must think we’re twins but —“

“—we’re actually victims of the ol’ polyjuice!”

Fred leaned in really close to Peter’s ear. “I have no idea who this man is, he’s holding me at wand-point.”

“No he’s not,” Percy said sternly. He brought his foot down from the step and put his hands on his hips, “they’re Fred and George, my brothers, and they  _ are _ twins. Fred, George, this is Peter Grettigrew and Wolfe Jenkins.”

“That’s unfortunate,” George muttered, and they all knew what he was talking about.

Peter must’ve made an odd face because Remus elbowed him.

“You’ve got one average name between the two of you,” Fred grinned.

“I’m taking them up now, go back to studying.” Something at the table the twins were sitting at earlier exploded as if on cue, and several Gryffindors tore their gazes away from their conversation to stare at it. Pink cloudy dust rose. “Or... whatever it is you two do.”

The twins raced off without any more prompting, and one started fanning down the table. A girl with black skin and twin braids laughed at them before she grabbed her wand and poured water into the small flaming dish they had on their table. The smoke started to ease up.

Percy walked up the stairs and the two followed him at a quick pace, getting away from the crowd of Gryffindors now trying to get a look at the smoking mess. “Don’t worry,” Percy said as he opened a door at the edge of the fifth year hallway, “by the end of the week everyone will have forgotten about you. You’ll just be another student.”

No wonder the guy wasn’t well-liked, that wasn’t the best way to phrase that  _ at all _ . Peter found it kind of endearing. In an odd way.

“This is the one,” Percy said. He gestured to a new plaque above the door that had their two new names.

They had a room to themselves, so Peter distantly noted the other boy’s fifth-year room must’ve been either full or Dumbledore allowed them the private space for their research. That was a point in Dumbledore’s favour.

Two beds, the same kind as before. The room was the same as their old one, just a bit smaller and completely bare. Peter’s heart ached for his frog curtains, the terrible pathways they used to fashion by shoving their rubbish to the side, his guitar, and the many posters that slowly increased in number as they got older.

The small losses of everyday items hurt a bit. It was sort of weird. For example, he knew for a fact there used to be a pink paperclip next to the door in their old dorm room. Here, it just wasn’t there. Everything was clean.

What an odd thing to miss.

“I’ll let you settle down. Call me if you need me, I’ll just be in the common room.” He wandered off and left them alone together.

“Look Peter,” Remus said. “This room has working lamps.” He grinned and went over to the one beside a bed, which he flickered on and off. 

Peter grinned and chose the bed closest to the door, which he flopped upon. “I can fix that.”

“You’d better not touch them, or I’m eviscerating you.”

Peter’s stomach growled. 

Whatever he could wait it out until dinner. He didn’t want to go through the common room again so soon after they left it.

Remus neatly sat down on the other bed and relaxed back on his hands. Peter heard him inhale deeply and exhale. 

“You know,” Peter thoughtfully said, “if they make us do exams, I might just go up to Dumbledore’s office and eviscerate  _ him _ .”

“Hm.”

“It’s not too bad here, but I still don’t like it. Hogwarts is alright in concept but I swear people are more annoying than not, and I was glad when I escaped the first time. Well, not really. Sort of? Not really. I don’t know. When we get back, I’m dropping out.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely. I’ll start a new life, live off the land. We’ve been over this; point is, Hogwarts is boring and at the end of the day it’s just a school. A good school, but a school, and schools are annoying and I have to study all the time and my marks still suck.”

“I see.”

“All of them! Well, they were sort of good in Flitwick’s class, but I swear he just really likes me for some reason.” Maybe it was out of pity because he met Peter’s dad. Did the other Pettigrew get the same favouritism? “Sometimes he started conversations with me in the hallways, and he always offered help. I think every teacher has their favourites, and I’m proud to say I must’ve been his.”

“Right.”

“You and your group had McGonagall, she liked you more than anyone, no matter what people said.”

“I see.”

“You’re not listening, are you? Well, whatever, I like talking and I can go on for a long time. And since Ditzy is... probably dead, you’ll make for a good venting replacement. I wonder what happened to Ditzy? Maybe she’s just very wrinkly now? I should find out. I hope she’s alright. I like her.”

“Right.”

“Well, that’s a guarantee you’re not listening,” Peter murmured into his pillow. “Not very nice, but at least I think my voice is less boring than Binns’ entire existence as a concept, so whatever. I’d now talk about the goblin wars for humour points or something, but if I’m being honest, the only thing I learned in that class is that people can carry around pillows with them in  _ really odd places _ . Some guy reached into his pants once, and  _ man _ was that something you don’t want to see from across the classroom.”

“Yeah.”

“But no, he just took out a pillow. It was a relief from all corners, and I’m sure he got a real kick out of it.”

“Is that so?”

“That is so. You know, it’s no wonder I’m getting a T in that class. I think Hogwarts has the worst scores for history in the world; we’re practically a joke. I don’t care though, I’m not missing my designated nap time for the world. If I put even a tiny bit of effort into that class, I could probably get an O, but I won’t, because history sucks.”

“Right.”

“I’d like to tell you something, it’s been on my mind for a long time and I hope this doesn’t change the way you see me. I’m gay. I like boys.”

“Hm.”

“Aright, what even are you doing?” Peter twisted on his bed to see Remus with his eyes closed, one of his pillows was clutched in his hands.

“Yeah.”

“Snap out of it.” Peter whacked him in the face with a pillow, and Remus spluttered and turned to him indignantly.

“What was that for?”

“I came out to you and you’re being an asshole.”

Remus stared at him. “Peter, half the wizarding population is gay, the practice of ‘coming out’ is practically archaic. I’m bi. Who cares?”

Peter pouted. “I know, I was joking. But you were ignoring me.”

Oh, wait, shit. Without the soul mark system, the world had probably taken a step back from the whole ‘gay acceptance’ thing. He sighed. Remus turned over and Remus watched him carefully before retreating to his bed.

“Wake me up if someone dies,” Peter casually announced. Remus hummed in acknowledgment. “Or if someone breaks into the tower and tears up a painting, or if someone... no, that’s it. Night.”

The last thing he heard was quiet snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How’s the pacing?
> 
> NOTE
> 
> Peter’s mentality seems to improve a lot this chapter; but keep in mind, I’m trying to keep his thought processes / behaviour believable. According to my friends with mental illness (depression, anxiety) there are good days and bad days.
> 
> I myself have no mental illnesses, so I’m sort of pulling things out of a hat at this point. I’m googling, reading similar moody fics with a magnifying glass, and casually looking over my more #fun memories.
> 
> This is noticeable for me, but the plan for this chapter was to show Peter feeling more comfortable after being removed from a pressuring environment, and especially after confessing things to Remus (although this isn’t really mentioned.) 
> 
> If you notice something that seems a bit off in his way of thinking, especially in the future, please feel free to point it out for me. I hope I’ve written it well.
> 
> Last thing; a thank you to @YouMakeTheSunSmile for grammar corrections. I downloaded grammarly! That’s pretty cool, eh?
> 
> Thanks, everyone (-:


	8. There is a God But he Doesn’t Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > I’m an aussie lol
> 
> beta’d work !

Peter could tell that Remus seemed more assured. Now that he was at Hogwarts, he was comfortable. Peter didn’t understand that, but that was more because he knew about the present Hogwarts. Remus didn’t. Peter would tell him in time, maybe, gradually, but for now he knew little.

It was weird that he was alright with the idea of telling Remus anything. He wouldn’t tell him anything too unnecessary — he didn’t need to know about Mary, for example, but still, he wanted to tell Remus. He wanted to inform him. He wanted to work together with Remus to bring him back to where he used to be, because for some fucking reason, he didn’t mind the guy.

Sure, Peter had disliked him a lot initially, but now after saying all those things and seeing Remus amidst a situation that Peter had had to live with, a long time ago, he felt alright in his presence. Especially since it meant he wasn’t alone.

They walked in silence, and Peter reflected on their relationship in quiet scrutiny. Earlier, Remus had almost outrightly stated that he minded Peter. It was before Remus had walked into the shower, while Peter had been sitting on the edge of his bed.

“If you weren’t here,” Remus had said, “I reckon I still would’ve been stuck in that graveyard. Thanks. But I’m not  _ that _ thankful, you’re still the one who dragged me here in the first place.”

“Hah,” Peter had teased, knowing that Remus wasn’t too upset with him anymore. “You’d have gone door to door and eventually worked something out. Would’ve seen my grave and been like, ‘nah I’m pretty sure he didn’t die,’ and it would’ve been smooth sailing from there.”

“If I was alone, I don’t think I’d have checked the graves.”

He hummed, and listened to the sound of the shower turning on. “You’d have done it eventually. Like I said, you’d have checked door to door, and when you inevitably didn’t find anyone in an easy walking distance, you’d have returned to the scene of the crime.”

“‘Scene of the crime,’” Peter heard over the falling water. “I suppose. But what I’m saying is, you helped me, so thanks for that.”

“Ah, but it’s still my fault you’re here, right?”

“Yeah.” Remus said after a very, very long pause. “And I’m pissed at that, but... I’m glad you’re not alone.”

Peter hadn’t known what to say to that.

So he’d sat quietly until Remus was done in the shower, and walked in to take his turn. He came out with a simple jumper and pair of pants he’d found on the dresser. Remus was already dressed in a similar outfit. Silently, together they both left for the Great Hall.

“I wonder if everyone’s already seated,” Remus muttered as they swerved around a corridor towards the Great Hall. “We woke up pretty late. I don’t even know what day it is.”

“Aha, I’m guessing Sunday? I don’t know. I haven’t been paying attention either. We better not have to go to classes, if we have to, I swear on my own corpse that I’m setting Dumbledore’s beard on fire next time I see him.”

“Peter. You’re not dead.” 

“According to everyone else I am, I don’t need your technicalities.” Remus snorted and pushed him along, he nearly bumped into a painting of a lady on a horse and the horse neighed as they passed.

The hall was bustling, and many students were just arriving and settling down near plates of food. None were in uniform, which meant that it was the weekend. Some stood around and leaned against the walls, not at all in their seats, and Peter felt an odd sensation in his chest when he remembered a brief flash of all the students from Remus’ time in the same positions, in much less vibrant clothing.

Ah, memories. He noticed Remus also standing and looking over the hall with a very put off face, so Peter grabbed his sleeve and tugged him over to the first spare seat at Gryffindor he saw.

Peter immediately put several things on his plate. He looked at the spread with reverence and ignored curious glances in their direction. Remus was eerily silent as he put food onto his own plate. 

Peter half expected for Remus’ friends to join him any second, but of course, none did.

“Hello Grettigrew, Jenkins. Did you find your way here alright?” Percy took a seat across from the two of them, and helped himself to potatoes that Peter had been eying. Percy’s clothes were neatly ironed and tucked in, his hair straight and gelled back. No one else at the Gryffindor table matched his appearance. He’d have fit right in with some of the Ravenclaws.

“Call me Peter,” he said blankly, and ate a strip of bacon. “And yeah.” Remus looked upon his table manners and shook his head.

“Ah, that’s good! When I was a first year—“

“Ickle firstie-Percy.” One of the twins sidled up from the entrance and took the seat besides Peter. The other casually sat across from them besides Percy, who looked very put out by their arrival. “Sucking up from a very young age.”

“Took a little something from every professor, didn’t he Fred? He was so young, so impressionable.”

“Took McGonagall’s strictness.”

They started naming off pompous or odd qualities off of professors while Peter stared with a mouthful of bacon. Remus was edging the toast around his plate with a fork.

“Dumbledore’s fashion.” George happily added baked beans to his plate and started to eat.

“Hagrid’s love of ties.”

“Binn’s personality.”

“And of course —“

“— Snape’s hair!” They both finished.

Percy’s face soured.

Remus started to pay rapid attention. “Snape?” He questioned, his voice far gone and skeptical. It sounded worried, a little bit excited, horrified, confused and disgusted.

George smirked and put an arm around the back of Peter’s head and over the shoulder of Remus. He drew them both in close, and Peter watched a baked bean fall off the top of George’s fork onto the plate in silent loss.

“You poor unfortunate souls,” he said gently, his smile betraying his delight. “If you think you like Hogwarts now, you just wait until you have a class with that sucker.”

“We say sucker because he’s basically a vampire,” Fred winked helpfully.

“He hates Gryffindors with a burning passion. None more than our very own Harry, but Lupin comes in a close second. You’ll adore him.”

“Harry?” Remus asked, his mind far off, thinking about Snape. Peter’s stomach lurched.

“Harry Potter!” The twins chimed at the same time. 

Remus dropped his fork. It hit the plate with a loud clatter, barely heard over the noise of the Great Hall, but very loud in Peter’s ear. Peter  started to shove food into his mouth at a rapid pace.

“Must’ve heard of him,” Fred said, “he’s practically famous.”

“Our very own Harrykins defeated the dark lord when he was only a baby.”

Peter swallowed faster and nearly choked. He edged away from Remus slowly and got ready to stand up, jump over the chair and sprint.

An iron-clad hand grabbed his shoulder and held him in place. Peter gulped.

“He’s also quite a catch,” Fred swooned, oblivious of Peter's struggle. Peter sat back down and avoided looking in Remus’ direction.

“A real good seeker, too.”

Peter felt like someone had poured a thousand fire-ants into his undies; he was reeling to run away, but Remus’ hand didn’t falter. His arm was eerily still out of the corner of his eye.

“Uh... thanks, guys.”

Harry Potter stood before them, an over the shoulder bag hugged absently to his side while a ginger and a girl with very bushy hair watched curiously behind him. Ron was snickering, while Hermione looked disapproving.

“Really!” She said, “that’s not how you should introduce someone.”

“Well Hermione,” Fred smirked, “we didn’t ‘introduce’ him, see, we didn’t know he was there.”

Harry looked exactly like James. They had the same hands, the same posture and the exact same facial structure. The only difference was the eyes.

“Hermione Granger, Ronniekins Weasley, Harry Potter the oh so wise and powerful one,” George dramatically stood up and pointed to each person as he said their names, “meet our new students. Peter Grettigrew, Wolfe Jenkins and Percy... Weasley, I think.”

“I’m not new!” Percy hissed at the same time Ron mumbled, “those names are rather unfortunate.” Hermione lightly hit his shoulder.

Harry snickered. Hermione hit his shoulder too.

The whole time, the grip on Peter’s shirt didn’t lessen. Peter took that as his cue to hurriedly clean up his plate and rise to his feet, his posture slightly stooped from the weight on his shoulder.

“Hello. Also, we’ve got to go. Long day.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What’s Jenkins doing to your shirt?”

“Ah, just a good ol’ friendly grab,” Peter said awkwardly. He was about to spell Remus’ fingers loose when they dropped on their own. Hermione looked skeptical.

“Sorry,” Remus told the group politely. “But he’s right, we really must be off. We’ll see you tomorrow, or in the common room.”

Peter felt a shiver go down his spine. The other students didn’t notice anything wrong, so they smiled and said quick goodbyes, accepting the goodbye easily.

Haha. _Fuck_.

“Alright, so I know you might be a bit upset,” he rushed out in a heavy stream as Remus calmly walked out of the hall, Peter following only slightly behind him, “which is fine; I would be too, finding out my friend had a son and that someone that knew didn’t tell me about them. Or that someone they knew was teaching here, but hey... you didn’t ask, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Peter watched Remus ignore him and tried talking faster. “It’s not like I don’t want to give you information, it’s just that a lot is going on at the moment and I thought I’d tell you gradually! I’m sorry, but things are sort of hectic and you’re shoving me into a broom closet okay so this doesn’t seem to be going well.”

Remus’ calm facade dropped once they were out of the hall. “Alright, what the fuck?” Remus hissed lowly.

“Uh — well — gah! Don’t push me! Alright I deserved that but — holy shit!” He dodged another well aimed shove and backed up against the opposite wall of the closet. Remus breathed heavily.

He towered over Peter. Peter stood low and looked up with a bit of fear, his back was cold and something wet was seeping into the back of his sweater. He hadn’t expected this kind of reaction from Remus. He actually hadn’t expected anything at all — he hadn’t thought about it, really. But this kind of confrontation was just... it made sense, he guessed.

Peter grabbed Remus’ hands and forcibly held them down, and he guessed the hours of gruelling garden work paid off, because he kept them there steadily. It was nothing like Mary’s body strength, Mary had been all long limbs and no muscle.

For some reason, even when Mary gardened as much as Peter did, she wasn’t nearly as strong as him. It was probably puberty and their different biological genders, he guessed. Or maybe it was because Mary ate a lot when Peter didn’t. Maybe a mix. 

“Snape’s here? And why in Merlin’s saggy balls didn’t you tell me that James had a son? Who’s his mum? How old is he? What were they saying about the ‘dark lord?’ And tell me everything, Peter. I’m sick of waiting for you to tell me things!”

Haha... shit.

“I can explain, I’m sorry, I actually kind of forgot about it a little bit —“

“Then _explain_!”

Remus towered over him, his fists held in Peter’s hands, slightly trembling. 

“Uh — thirteen years ago! He was born Harry James Potter to Lily and James.”

Remus’ face was angry yet told him to continue.

“Halloween, the dark lord came to his house and...”

“Peter.”

“Killed Lily and James.” Peter winced significantly.

The fists tightened considerably, but Remus seemed to draw in on himself rather than rise up to take his anger out on Peter.

“But, uhm, Lily protected Harry and saved him with a powerful... spell, I think. Everyone thinks Harry did it, which is weird, because he was a baby. So Harry was hit by the killing curse, but he lived. The next thing everyone knows, was that the dark lord was vanquished. Then the war ended. Thirteen years ago.”

Remus shook. Peter pressed himself closer to the wall and held Remus’ hands tightly. Peter screwed his eyes shut. He was expecting another attempt at a shove, maybe even a punch.

It was silent. Terribly silent, a sort of silent that grabbed onto a person and choked them. Peter’s shoulders rose and his skin colour paled slightly as the minutes passed.

It was just Remus and Peter. Remus, who had just been told his best friends were dead, and that their son was what remained behind.

Peter bit the inside of his cheeks and waited.

Remus kept shaking, and Peter kept his eyes closed until he heard the unmistakable sound of of a sniff.

His eyes burst open and he drew a sharp inhale at the sight of Remus, who’s face was twisted with grief. Bright, visible through the small light around the edges of the door, crawled up Remus’ neck and fists, and unflatteringly splotched across his nose and face. 

“Why...”

Peter swallowed. Remus was crying. And Peter had no idea what to do.

Remus continued, his voice low and interrupted by the occasional sharp intake of breath. “Why do I care, so much. Peter. Why do I care, if they died? They’re not my friends, here. My friends are back there. But I do care. I care and I hate it. So, so much. I thought they were here, you know? I thought...”

Peter’s jaw finally unclenches and he muttered out a few words.

“What?”

He swallowed again. “Ever heard of Schrödinger’s cat?” Alright, weird thing to bring up, but he had a point to it.

“I might have but what’s that got to do with this?” Remus looked a bit angry, but Peter continued on. 

“The cat is both dead and alive until you open the box. You don’t know, so it’s both. It’s... you thought your friends were alive here, but then you opened the box. Uhm, so what I’m trying to say is that it’s because you opened it out of the blue that you’re so upset by it. Even if you don’t really know the ones from this dimension.”

“Oh fantastic,” Remus scoffed. He withdrew one of his hands to rub his nose. “I opened your ‘box.’ Again, point?” 

“Your friends are still your friends, Remus. Different reality or not. Of course you’re going to be attached to them, even if you don’t ‘know’ the ones from here, they’re still the same people. Kind of. You didn’t react this badly to your parents, all things considered... I think you... guess or know that they’re... maybe, ill in your world? Or something like that?”

He didn’t deny it.

“So when you saw their graves, you weren’t surprised. They were gone, and they were always going to go. I think our old world is now the cat’s box. You don’t know what’s going on there, or what will happen. We don’t know what’s going on; and when you found your parents dead, you knew that it sucked but there was always a chance of that happening, you’ve probably already grieved for it , so you didn’t think much beyond that. But here... Lily and James are dead. It was unexpected to you. And now you’re just thinking about the box. Somewhere, I think that some part of you believes their deaths correlate, that yours are gone too.”

Remus winced.

“They’re dead, Lupin. But... yours could still be alive.”

“Or they’re dead.”

“Or, they’re alive. We don’t know, because that’s the point of the box. You’re upset because you know Lily and James and the ones here were most likely very similar. You’ve lost a part of yourself, whether you know it or not. You opened the box for this world, and the shock is what’s getting to you. Don’t blame yourself for being upset about it, you know? You’re allowed to be upset.” He wished someone had told that to him, when he first reincarnated. He had bottled it all up, and he remembered the first time he truly allowed himself to be upset was when he found out his new mum died.

“They’re not mine,” Remus whispered. 

“Weren’t they?”

“I didn’t know them.”

“I know.”

Remus sobbed. “So mine are in the box, and these ones are dead. That’s not...”

“Comforting? It’s not, but it’s true. You can’t do anything about it until you get back.”

“Mine might be gone. And I don’t think you’re entirely right — I’m... I'm upset because they were such good people, Peter. They didn’t deserve to die here.”

Peter softly rubbed his knuckles. “They were.”

“I hate it here, Peter. I hate the way Hogwarts smells now, I hate the fact the shower curtains are different, I hate the new stupid fucking uniform tie — it’s shitty, and they should’ve never replaced the old one, and I hate it because if that’s what happened to James and Lily, then what about everyone else?”

Despite all appearances, Remus was a fifteen year old. Peter forgot that sometimes.

Peter wasn’t.

“You don’t know.”

Remus kept his head forward. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “We’ll search the library early tomorrow.” Did they have to?

Peter lightly let go of Remus’ hand, which was shaking. A commanding air took over Remus, and all signs of breaking down vanished. A quick spell restored his clothes. He hesitated, then waved his wand around Peter and Peter’s robes cleared of dust.

“I’m going back home,” Remus muttered as they quietly walked down the hallway. “And I’ll warn them, they’ll be fine.” It was very naive thinking.

They could have already been warned. Potentially, if Peter was a better person. But even if he had warned them, things wouldn’t automatically happen the way he wanted them to.

Peter didn’t say anything. 

(He didn’t say anything, because Peter was still a coward.)

“What’s... what’s Harry like?”

Peter didn’t smile, but it was close to it. “You’ll get to know him later. Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


Peter found it inconvenient that they had landed themselves at Hogwarts at the start of the year in September. The students had arrived on Thursday, and Remus and Peter on Saturday.

(He didn’t want to be stuck there for a whole year.)

(He didn’t have a choice, unless they found a way out.)

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


Remus didn’t say anything when they reached the room. He didn’t shower or change his clothes, he just crawled in, hit the lamp switch and went to sleep. It was barely 11:00pm. Peter perched on the edge of his own bed and watched, guilty.

Someone’s entire world was crashing and Peter was... fine with everything. Not happy necessarily, but okay with it.

(It was a new chance. A new world, a place where someone else took the place he was supposed to be in. It was freeing. It was a lot of things the other one wasn’t. Like _open_ , no house he was trapped in. Like _strange_ , no obligation to cut people out. Peter knew what was going to happen and not to himself anymore, so he was free. _Free_.)

(It made sense he was enjoying himself... but Remus wasn’t. And that changed things.)

He hated that it made him feel guilty. It didn’t used to — he missed that. Something was wrong with him. Something now was intrinsically wrong with him. Guilt was a bad feeling; he didn’t want guilt, he wanted his old apathy. He used to dislike his apathy, but now, he wanted it back. Peter should have appreciated it when he had it.

  
  
  
  


..

Peter decided to sleep at around dinner time. 

..

  
  
  


Peter woke up to the turning of old pages. He stayed down, groggy. 

“But that’s not right,” he heard Remus mumbling to himself. It was an odd habit he had, usually when he was stressed he organised his thoughts while talking aloud. “In fact, she’s probably barmy. Nope.”

Peter sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “What’re you doing?”

His eyes focused, and he immediately blanched. Books, rows upon rows of books. They were stacked and laying in corners, and Peter’s heart felt a bit heavy when he noticed the familiar paths made to each bed, to the bathroom, and to the door. The floor was nearly completely covered.

At least they didn’t have to go to the library anymore.

“Dumbledore dropped these off. I’m trying to find leads on time travel, and here there’s a passage on rebirth; it’s bollocks. There’s this Mongolian witch who reckoned she used to be a Scottish muggle. Maybe it’d be nearly believable if she knew that _muggles don’t use flying laundry baskets._ ” 

Peter had been expecting around fifteen books. Fifteen! This was much more than fifteen. Had Dumbledore emptied out the library? Peter had also been expecting camping in there, but now, that was unnecessary.

Remus’ voice didn’t rise or fall during his tirade, Remus was completely focused on the book he was holding.

“Where’s the dismissed pile?”

Remus pointed to four books neatly sitting against the wall.

Peter glanced at the clock. It was six in the morning.

“How long’ve you been up?”

Remus flipped a page. “A while.”

“How long’s a while?” He scratched the back of his neck and stretched his limbs out. Something clicked and he sighed in relief. He rubbed his shoulders groggily.

Remus hummed. “Got up at three.”

Peter gaped. “You read four books in three hours?”

He flipped another page.

Well son of a bitch. Peter stared at him incredulously all the way to a pile of books that’d been helpfully stocked onto a dresser next to him, which he guessed was his ‘unread’ pile. “Do you need... help?”

“Do you want to help?” Remus blankly replied.

“Not really.”

“Well then there you go.”

Peter didn’t like that. “Hey, fuck you! I’m going to help just to spite you.”

“You do that.”

“I will.”

Thirty minutes into a book about organic chemistry, Peter was wondering if he’d been tricked. He read something about structural isomers and stared at it, wondering why they even had the book and how the hell it related to interdimensional travel.

The next page had something about equations and he wanted to throw it out the window.

He nearly stood up and got prepared to do just that, but then he noticed Remus’ face, concentrated and a little bit desperate, and he made himself more comfortable instead.

He spitefully read through a few more paragraphs. He vaguely remembered feeling alright with being in this new world. Now, that perspective was gone in the wind. Seriously, chemistry? _Fuck_ chemistry!

  
  


..

  
  
  


Peter walked into the Great Hall alone, dying a little bit inside. He’d found a uniform folded on the dresser underneath a book earlier. It was seven, which meant that now students were going to breakfast. Peter had given up on reading after an hour, but Remus was still going strong. 

So he’d decided to show up and see if he could grab breakfast for himself, and bring some back for Remus. Also, classes. He needed to find out if he’d get a timetable or not. He didn’t want one, but it wasn’t like he was the one out of his and Dumbledore’s relationship with authority.

“I swear to Merlin,” he muttered as he sat next to George, “if anyone ever tries to talk to me about fucking combustion equations I’m throwing something at them.” Fred and George had seemed friendly with him and Remus before, so he decided to stick with them. 

Fred lazily chewed on a piece of toast. “Funny thing,” he muttered tiredly, “about combustion equations —“

Peter reached across the table and was about to get a firm grip on an empty milk carton to lodge at his skull, when a hand came into view and batted it away.

“Don’t do that,” George mumbled in the same tone as Fred, half asleep. “Some people have feelings.”

“Where’s Jenkins?” Fred didn’t look remotely worried at Peter’s hand on the milk, and Peter drew back his hand to put it to better use buttering his toast. It took a while for Peter to reply, six seconds after the question, when he realised he was supposed to know a Jenkins.

“Reading.”

“That’s terrible,” Fred said sadly. “You don’t come to Hogwarts to read.”

George straightened his back and did his best impersonation of Percy. “Then what, pray tell, are we meant to be doing, Gred?” 

“Our very best.” 

Peter snorted at that and sipped out of his glass. He wasn’t in much of a talking mood, after the Chemistry book. In the end, it hadn’t even mentioned portals or inter dimensional travel or anything useful. Not once!

“The trick is putting in the bare minimum. We just need to make sure we uphold our Hogwarts values,” George said solemnly.

“Turn in work on time,” Fred cheered.

“Clean our dorms!”

“Work to the limit!”

“And as McGogs has said, ‘don’t talk in class!’”

George started to mimic McGonagall’s voice. It didn’t sound that much like her, but he did nail the Scottish accent. “‘Don’t stick your mouse to the ceiling, Mr Weasley, you’re supposed to be turning it into a tea cosy.’”

Fred joined in. “‘Don’t use that language, Mr Weasley, you’ll influence the younger years.’”

“‘Mr Weasley, please tell me you did not just turn Mr Weasley’s chair into a sled.’”

“Oh that was a good one. Then she mentioned how ‘there isn’t any snow inside the classroom anyway,’” Fred grinned. “But my favourite round of good ol’ McGogs scolding, of course, was first year with those needles —“

They both met eyes. “‘Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley, for the love of Merlin, you’re supposed to be turning your matchsticks into needles, not using them to burn your names into the desks!’ Ours names are still there. It might’ve not been our most imaginative prank, but you’ve always gotta respect the classics.”

Peter groaned at that, and ignored the twin’s chucking. 

“That one was in our first class with her,” Fred winked. “We were her favourites ever since.”

“Oh I’m sure,” Peter mumbled. “She must’ve been bonkers for you.” He wondered if McGonagall could tell the difference between the two of them.

“Positively off her rocker,” Fred confirmed. 

“Weasley,” a very cold Scottish voice interrupted, “would you please stop _corrupting_ our new student?”

The three of them whipped around only to find Harry with a wand pointed at his own throat. Harry grinned at the twins’ awestruck faces and withdrew his wand and tucked it in his robe pocket. Peter blinked owlishly.

“You’re teaching us that one, Harrykins,” George intoned solemnly.

“‘Fraid not, ‘Mione would sacrifice me to Hagrid’s spiders. Now move over, I want to reach the toast.”

“Go to the other side,” Fred snorted, playfully raising his arm to block his path.

Harry grinned and wrestled him until he was on the seat beside him. Everyone helpfully moved over a bit, and Peter mournfully lost sight of the jam around George’s elbow.

“Going to the other side would take forever,” Harry chuckled. He reached for a piece of toast and started buttering it.

Peter shrugged, “it is a bit odd that the tables are very long and aren’t at all broken up in the middle.”

“It’s terrible,” Harry said. “Whenever you want to be in a particular spot you have to walk all the way around; it’s not too bad, though, because it also means you can sit by more people without shoving them off to another table. Hogwarts is great, you’ll love it. Bloody nightmare to navigate through though.”

Peter awkwardly smiled at Harry. He looked exactly like James, from the nose shape to the last dimple. It felt weird smiling and not just instinctively getting ready to walk away or ignore him. “Jenkins and I figured that out yesterday... does it get better?”

“A little bit, you’ll memorise certain paths and different ways to places,” George said when Harry took a while to answer because his mouth was full. “The seventh years always reckon they only just figured out where everything is the week before they graduate.”

“Nutters, the lot of them,” Fred shook his head sadly, “in Hogwarts there’s no such thing as ‘figuring out directions’ or whatever. You come here lost and you graduate lost.”

Well it was easier for the twins, since they had the ma— oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh shit _oh fuck—_

Remus pulled himself into the seat next to Peter without warning, and Peter was distracted momentarily. They were all on the same side of the table, which meant that Remus was a long distance from Harry, and he wondered if it was on purpose. Remus immediately pulled a large tome onto the desk, and both of the twins and Harry looked at him, affronted.

Well at least it meant he didn’t have to bother with bringing him breakfast — why was he so distracted? The map, fuck, the _map_! How the hell had he forgotten about the map? It was sup _posed to be a calm morning, Merlin damnit!_

“We’ve got another one,” Fred tittered, “weren’t Hermione and Percy enough?” Remus spared a brief non-verbal wave and absently poured milk into a bowl of cereal.

“Where’d you guys come from, anyway?” George asked.

“Australia,” Peter didn’t hesitate to say. Under the table, he felt a harsh kick against his ankle. They hadn’t agreed on where they had apparently came from, but Peter was familiar enough with Australia so that was what he was going to say. But maybe he should have told Remus about telling others he was from there.

Harry looked interested, “what’s it like?” Remus twitched a little bit at the sound of his voice, and Fred and George exchanged knowing glances.

“Big,” Peter said a little bit wistfully, “and hot. It’s people are pretty welcoming, but I’ve also heard that we’re not, so I’m not really sure on that. I don’t have the accent, but that’s because the different states are all a bit different in terms of accent; Remus’ accent must’ve come from his parents.”

Peter was happy to channel Mary and show his natural patriotic  pride . Remus had looked up halfway through his rant and seemed oddly absorbed in his words. Which Peter found flattering.

“It really is big, though. The population is so small, so we’re really spread out. It’s not always boiling hot, so it doesn’t snow unless it’s on high mountains, which is a bummer. It’s always dry  heat . If you don’t wear shoes, your feet will probably die from the temperature of the pavement.

“Australia.. it’s beautiful, I think. The flowers are great, and the trees are pretty wicked too. The animals are fantastic, the spiders aren’t as bad as a problem as foreigners think they’d be but maybe I’m just used to them or something — oh, I just realised I’m ranting. Sorry, you get it, but Australia was beautiful. I miss it.”

Peter turned a bit pink and busied himself with his toast. Remus continued to stare at him.

“My parents have always wanted to move to Australia,” Hermione said as she sat down across from the twins. 

Ron slumped into the space beside her, closest to Harry and narrowly avoided putting his elbow in the butter dish. He didn’t bother greeting the group other than with a low grunt, and Harry casually slid the toast closer to him.

“Why didn’t they?” Peter tried to play it cool, as if he hadn’t just ruined his ‘calm, collected’ image in front of the group.

“They’re always busy, and they settled down here with me so... I guess they never got around to it.”

Peter absently thought of something he had been wondering earlier; “by the way, is Dumbledore gay?”

Hermione, Ron, and the twins blinked owlishly at him.

Hermione gaped. “Where’d that come from?”

“I think he is,” Harry said to Peter from the other side of the twins.

They stopped looking at Peter to stare at Harry.

Peter sent him a quick thumbs up. “Oh, wicked.” He turned back to his food without another word. He heard a  quiet breath of laughter from beside him, and looked at Remus out of the corner of his eye, a bit proud. 

The group seemed less concerned with Peter and Remus and more interested in Harry and Hermione, who were determinedly frowning at each other.

“Harry!” Hermione said, “Dumbledore isn’t gay. He’s the greatest wizard of our generation.”

Ron’s head moved like a ping pong ball.

“Why can’t he be both?” Harry asked curiously.

“Because... no, you’re right.” And she put some toast onto her plate. 

Oh. That was quick.

“It’s just,” Hermione blushed lightly, “I don’t think he’s romantically invested in anyone. I just can’t see it.”

Fred grinned. “I don’t know, Hermione. Have you ever seen the way he looks at muggle candy?”

So people here were alright with gay people, then? Peter smiled approvingly and leaned forward to try and see what Remus was reading. Something about a fabled portal in Taiwan, apparently. 

“But... gay. I’ve always figured he has something for McGonagall,” Hermione mumbled.

“She’s at least twenty years younger than him,” Remus supplied helpfully. Peter remembered debates about the very same topic in the last dimension, students had never seen McGonagall or Dumbledore’s soulmarks, so it was a possibility. However, it was widely thought that McGonagall had had a soulmate, but they’d passed away.

People had always wondered what Dumbledore had as a soulmark. It was rumoured to be a phoenix, which was all well and good until Sirius had suggested in the Great Hall one day that maybe if he really _did_ have that soulmark, then it meant he was bonded to _Fawkes_. Merlin, the yelling after that suggestion...

“How’d you know that?” Ron asked through a mouthful of porridge; he had a bit of everything on his plate.

“They look it,” Remus closed his eyes solemnly and flipped a page. The table as a whole looked over at the head table, and Peter felt his blood rush a little bit when he noticed the older Remus Lupin. Remus looked up at the head table to back up his call, and didn’t even flinch at the sight of his older self. Not even at Snape. He’d probably taken a look at them already, then. Peter was more surprised that he himself hadn’t looked up the last time he’d been in the Great Hall.

The older Remus Lupin was in slightly tattered clothes, although they were obviously well cared for. His hair was neat and orderly yet held an air of mischief, which was hidden in the occasional hairs out of place. There were a lot of scars on his face; over his nose, down the side of his cheek, and Peter blushed a little bit.

Was it weird to think an alternate version of your friend-not-friend was attractive? 

Well, as long as Remus never found out.

Honestly... _hot damn._

Remus looked oddly collected as he looked down again to turn a page, comfortable in the presence of the other Gryffindors. Peter felt a little bit proud.

“I can’t tell the difference,” Ron said suddenly. Hermione elbowed him, but that only made him playfully elbow her back. 

Peter pushed back his plate and slowly stood up, stretched, and said a few goodbyes. The two of them hadn’t been approached by anyone with a timetable, so he assumed they didn’t have classes, or didn’t have classes yet.

“Nearly done, Jenkins?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Remus stood up and held the tome against his chest to decrease the chances of dropping it on his toes. It was a very big book, and Peter felt sick just from looking at it.

“Haven’t you got classes?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Maybe, we’re not sure yet.” Peter admitted, “I’m guessing they’re letting us settle in a bit or something. We’ll see you later.”

They said their goodbyes and headed back to the dorm.

“It’s... weird,” Remus said as they walked. “I’m used to subconsciously looking for soulmarks, and I keep forgetting that here they don’t exist.”

“I’ve kind of forgotten about them now that they’re not as obvious here,” he admitted. “It’s weird, but now that you’ve mentioned it, some part of me was half-expecting someone to ask after mine.”

They walked past a painting of a lady in a fruit hat.

“Harry was nice,” Remus mumbled after a long pause,

“Yeah. He is.”

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


After his ranting on Australia, he’d completely forgotten about the map.

  
  


..

  
  
  


Peter came back from the Room of Requirement with several more books shrunken into his bag, and a few other items like clothes, blankets and nail polish. He ducked into their dorm and emptied out the books onto Remus’ bed.

Peter had reckoned that if he was to help, it didn’t mean he had to read the books. Providing more was enough, right? He sat down next to Remus and the books he’d dumped down.

He pulled out more items piece by piece, and felt himself smirk when Remus looked over from the book he’d been reading, “Where’d you get all that?”

“I know a guy,” he lied. 

“We’ve been here two days.”

“I know a guy,” Peter repeated.

“Peter.”

“Alright, fine! Dumbledore gave them to me.”

“No he didn’t.”

“Fine!” How did Remus even spot that lie? “Fred did.”

“Lie.”

“George.”

“Lie.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Peter, come on.”

The room had always been a safe place for Peter. 

Even with his dorm mates having a magical map, they couldn’t find him in the Room of Requirement.

It was safe, and isolated. 

To give away the secret of the room was like giving away a well loved pet.

How long had it been since he’d first set foot in the room? That day, he remembered feeling tired and disgusting. 

Maybe... maybe it was something he should share. Remus certainly looked like he wouldn’t mind a break. And really, Peter should have expected questioning when he brought the items back from it.

“Ever heard of the Room of Requirement?”

“L— oh.” Remus sat up, and started to pay full attention. Obviously, he had. “It’s briefly mentioned in Hogwarts, a History. We thought it wasn’t real. So you’re telling me you’ve found it? How?”

“House-elf,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie, Dobby first mentioned the room in the books, so he did indeed hear it from a house-elf. 

Remus tilted his head to the pile of books and other items. “And you got those there?”

“Yeah. I’m not taking you there right now. I just got back and I can’t feel my feet.”

There was a small silence.

“Fine, but you’re taking me there tomorrow.”

“Right.”

Another silence. Remus relaxed and fidgeted with one of the pages of his book, deep in thought.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  
  


( _“Thanks. We’ll cut your hair today, it looks too girly.”_ )

When Peter looked in the bathroom mirror, he wondered and speculated and hoped and feared, and all in the process of looking in the mirror. The nail polish he’d brought from the room, and scissors were in front of him.

What a mirror. Simple. Just a mirror.

His hair was getting longer.

(Dad didn’t like it when it got longer.)

Dad wasn’t here.

(He knew that.)

He wanted to cut it.

(Did he?)

He wouldn’t cut it, or paint his nails. Or wear pastel colours or wear anything that could be seen as feminine, or speak in a high voice or have flower petals on his chest, because —

(Because what?)

Because he couldn’t. He thought about doing it, he thought about letting his hair grow, or buying a pretty shirt or doing something as small as raising the top of his pants to around his belly button rather than his hips, but then something in his stomach would always protest and yell and shout and scream and scream and _scream_ and he wouldn’t feel any more urging to do it again.

Until the next day, or the next week, or the next... whenever.

(Just give up.)

He couldn’t. 

(Why not?)

Peter held up the scissors to his head and did the first rough cut. It wasn’t neat or perfect, but it didn’t look that bad either.

He couldn’t. 

He put the nail polish back in its old place, hidden behind a few shampoo bottles. There it stayed, until the day he would pick it up and apply it.

Peter cut a few more strands. Then some more. He was pretty good at it. He’d done it many times before. The hardest part was getting the back right.

Peter walked out in his school clothes.

“You cut your hair.” It wasn’t a question.

“I did.” He answered anyway.   


(He’d fallen down a well with no end, and instead of finding that end, he kept going and going and _going_ _and_ _going_ and Peter wished and hoped that one day, he would go no more.)

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to my two amazing betas;
> 
> @mariposa4   
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariposa4
> 
> and
> 
> @youmakethesunsmile   
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouMakeTheSunSmile/profile
> 
> —For editing and helping me. For some godforsaken reason they’ve decided to help me with this monstrosity. 
> 
> ..
> 
> The other day I petted an echidna and it felt like God had blessed me. Life is good.
> 
> Kudos/comment. Thank you (-:


	9. Obligatory Sirius Black Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot heavy. Getting some things out of the way
> 
> Beta’d work

On Tuesday, McGonagall knocked at their dorm door and handed them their timetables. They came out of their dorm that afternoon half-dead. The ‘already read’ book pile had steadily increased over the three days of avid reading.

Remus was rarely found away from the books. Peter read them occasionally when his mind didn’t bulk at the thought of it, but nowhere near as much as Remus. When McGonagall handed them their timetables, Peter had weirdly enough, been happy about it. He needed a distraction from the piles of books. 

They hadn’t been asked about their preferences for classes, and they’d been put in the same ones. 

They had the core classes and no electives, which they were both happy about. Peter was sure that Remus loved his electives, but he was more focused on trying to find a way back than anything else. Arithmancy could wait. 

Their first-class, the next day, was potions. Remus and Peter, familiar with the feeling of owning second-hand books, weren’t too fussed when that was exactly what they were given for their classes. They were dropped off in a parcel that Wednesday morning. 

There were coffee stains on his potions book. He didn’t like it but you know, he understood.

The moment they walked into potions, they received curious looks from all sides. 

“Oh, you guys!”

The twins walked in behind them, roped their hands around their shoulders, and simultaneously pulled them to the front to sit with them. 

“Usually we’d sit in the back,” one said, “but Snape said something about ‘being a danger to others,’ so now we’re here. Welcome to class! Didn’t know if you were taking any if I’ll be honest.”

Peter propped his books up onto a desk next to a shared cauldron, and Remus slid into the chair next to his.

“We can’t see what the problem that Snape has with us is,” the other shook his head sadly, “we’re perfectly behaved students. We’re practically mum’s favourite.”

“Well, no. I think that’s Percy. We’re second.”

“Or Ginny. It has to be Ginny. We’re third.”

“Maybe Charlie.”

“Charlie’s a menace to society. It’s Bill, I tell you. We’re somewhere on the list I reckon.”

“Can’t be Bill. Remember when he set those gnomes on fire?”

Remus looked surprised. “You have a lot of siblings.”

“We do,” one said. Peter couldn’t tell the difference between them, which was annoying, but he didn’t care enough to question and find out which was which. He settled for waiting until one referred to the other as their name — something inside him clued him in that this would be something he’d be doing for the rest of the time he knew them both. 

“We’ve got one more, but he can’t be the favourite.”

“I still think it’s Ginny.”

“Fred, mum named her Ginevra. There’s no way mum loves her.”

Fred hummed. “Good point.”

Remus stared at them, dazed. He looked in shock at the number of siblings the twins had. Peter snickered at his face from behind his potions book.

“Oh, sorry,” George said suddenly, once he noticed Remus was staring at him.

It took a while for Remus to realise. And then, “oi.”

“Point is,” Fred grinned, “that we’re very loved, and it’s odd that Snapey doesn’t love us.”

He wondered how they were measuring Snape’s possible ‘love’ towards them by Molly’s favourite children. Especially since Snape hated all of the Weasleys. Peter grinned at them and turned to his desk while Remus was lured into a conversation.

Peter sat back and flipped through pages of his book. He sucked at potions. Snape being his teacher wouldn’t be a fun experience, he knew already. Peter just had to make sure to double-check everything, because he didn’t want to die.

It wasn’t like he even needed to do well, so the matter of grades wasn’t that bad; but then one considered Snape and his habit of threatening remedial potions. There was no way Peter had the time, motivation, or willpower to put himself through that.

Slughorn hadn’t cared what Peter did, even if he doodled terrible illustrations of dogs for the entire lesson. 

(Maybe that was why Peter wasn’t good at potions.)

But Snape was different, and while they had once been friends — a long, long time ago — he didn’t know anything about the Snape from this time. For one, Snape didn’t have a soul mark to distract himself from falling too hard for Lily. That already forced what Peter knew of his personality into question.

“Welcome,” a chilling voice echoed out from the back as if on cue. Many heads flipped around to look at the dark figure slowly walking through the door. A long, black coat billowed behind him.

Peter noticed how Remus put a hand over his mouth. The corner of his mouth was tilted up in hilarity. It was pretty weird seeing Snape walk around like that. In the other world, Snape had sort of looked graceful but here, Snape was older and had perfected the art of gliding.

He had a weird aura around him. Essence of slimy bat. Sometimes Peter wondered if someone had ever lied to Snape and said that olive oil was great for hair. Well maybe it was, Peter didn’t know that much about hair products. Snape still looked like a well-greased up mop though.

“Welcome to fifth-year potions class. I see that some of you have decided to continue. You are all expected to succeed and pursue potions as a newt subject in later years.” He lightly turned his foot so that his cloak seemed to sway like leaves in the wind. Snape stood in front of the class and looked down his nose, his chin high and his gaze dismissive. “You’re expected, that’s not to mean you will.” He looked pointedly at the Weasley twins, who smiled cheerfully back.

“There are instructions on the board. Well? Hurry up.”

They hurried up.

  
  


..

  
  


Remus felt at a bit of a loss. Snape had been a stranger before. A bit of a wanker. A real tosser. 

Now, he was even more of a stranger. He was so different. He was someone he used to know, but now he was different.

He’d never gotten over his obsession with the colour black. It also looked like he hadn’t found out that shampoo was a thing. But he looked more stern, more worn, and it was weird. 

Remus knew that they were in another dimension, so perhaps his Snape — it was godawful to refer to Snape as ‘his’ — wouldn’t have turned out like this. But maybe he would. Maybe he always had the potential to turn out like that. 

Seeing Snape from across the great hall was one thing, hearing him talk and move around him was another. Seriously — what was up with his walking? And his cloak? It just flew around him like a wave. 

Remus imagined Snape practicing his walk for hours and chuckled. Peter looked up at him curiously, but when Remus didn’t acknowledge him he turned back down to cutting up snails. 

He noticed blankly how Peter was drawing a dog on the corner of his potions book. Seriously? He knew he used to do the same with Slughorn, but Snape was very obviously not Slughorn. When Peter next looked up, Remus gave him a look, and Peter sheepishly put down the quill. Remus stirred the cauldron.

How much had his friends changed? He knew what happened to Peter and Lily, James and himself, but what about Alice and Frank? Marlene? Sirius?

They stirred and cut and stirred again.

Sirius. His last friend. Where was he? Maybe he lived with this dimensions version of Remus. He had to admit, once upon a time he had looked at Sirius and seen something there. Something that could’ve been.

But because of his soul mark, he hadn’t tried to pursue anything. He’d have never been able to pursue Sirius guilt-free. But here, this him didn’t have the same limitations. So maybe...?

Remus briefly paused cutting up a kidney and felt his cheeks heat up. Maybe. Who knew?

Maybe Sirius had turned into something unrecognisable. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he owned a motorbike and a crappy apartment and visited Harry once a week on the holidays. 

He didn’t want to ask Peter, because some part of him suspected that Sirius was dead from the way Peter didn’t bring him up at all. He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to open the box. 

Snape turned to him and barked at him to continue cutting his kidney, and he shook himself out of it and started cutting again. Peter laughed under his breath, so he elbowed him in the stomach. 

  
  


..

  
  


“You’re thinking about Sirius, aren’t you?”

Remus blinked. He turned to Peter, who had his area of the table cleaned up and was just now waiting on Remus’ stirring to finish their potion. Their almost-finished potion of forgetfulness was happily bubbling. Remus wondered distantly if Peter even knew what they were making. Knowing him, probably not.

“How could you tell?” He drew out after a long hesitation. They were both whispering to each other under their breath.

“You sometimes use that expression when you look at him,” Peter said shortly. “And when you think of James, you use this expression.” He proceeded to twist his face to look like he was subtly peeved but otherwise blank. Remus sighed.

“I don’t think I want to hear about him.” He didn’t want to hear bad information.

“Nothing at all? I know about him right now, you know. A lot.”

“I don’t know...”

“How about I give a super brief summary? If you don’t know now you’ll wonder about it for a while. Also if I don’t tell you I think you might get angry at me later.”

Remus snorted, mildly amused. “Well, alright, if you insist.” He didn’t want to ‘open the box,’ but if Peter was willing to say something then it was most likely a good idea to listen. Remus did tell Peter before to tell him more, after all. If he turned this down now then most likely Peter would say less in the future. He stirred clockwise in the potion and subtly leaned in to Peter to hear about Sirius.

“Well, this year he’s looking for me, to murder me.”

Remus coughed and spluttered in surprise. “What?” He whispered fiercely.

“The other me — ah yeah so from the look on your face you’ve realised but uh. Anyway. He’s currently trying to find Pettigrew while in his animagus dog form.”

“Holy shit.” He didn’t have any other words for it. 

“Yeah. Pettigrew is in his rat form. Honestly, if this whole situation didn’t involve someone aiming to brutally murder an alternate version of me in vengeance, I’d be entertained. Actually, I sort of am. Because he’s not really me.” The splutter of words seemed awkward.

Remus had no idea how to react to that, so he helpfully hummed in response. So apparently the Sirius and Peter here could both turn into animagus forms. Good to know. Good to fucking know. He was going to get anxious whenever he saw a rat or dog now, wasn’t he?

“And yeah,” Peter trailed off when Remus didn’t reply. “That’s what I should’ve told you. If you want to hear anything more you can ask, I guess.”

“That’s... yeah that’s fine, thanks.”

“Coolio. Oh shit, Snape’s coming, quick, I’ll help you get the potion into flasks.”

  
  
  
  


..

  
  
  
  


Defence, after potions, was short and long at the same time. Remus and Lupin looked an awful lot alike, and Lupin seemed incredibly fascinated and freaked out at the same time about it. Perhaps he thought it a glitch in the universe.

Who knew? Certainly not Peter. There wasn’t much to remark on about the whole interaction. Both Remus’ saw each other and barely reacted. Lupin had grinned in amusement, and Remus had smiled politely back, but that was about it. Also, Lupin was hot as fuck. That was worth noting.

He’d been expecting more from the interaction between them, honestly. Maybe a good ol’ ‘who’re you?’ But nope. Maybe he should have expected things to turn out this way; Remus was Remus, after all, no matter what version of him it was. If it was Peter in Remus’ shoes, he would’ve at least gasped dramatically.

Lupin gave a quick intro and then drew out a fat briefcase from under his desk.

Peter’s mind suddenly stopped processing details.

(Because then Remus stood in front of a white orb floating in the air, and Lupin’s face got darker and jaded and Peter thought that maybe Lupin did know. Maybe he was denying it. Peter could relate to that, so he wouldn’t judge.)

Boggarts, wasn’t it? Remus passed him to go to the back of the line with a stubborn still face. Peter was left staring after him in a daze.

What were the two of them even going to do for the full moon? He was pretty sure he remembered that Lupin would have his potion and then would curl up in his office, but was Remus going to have a potion too? He couldn’t curl up in their shared dorm. It made sense that he’d go out to the shack. His excuses would be interesting, Peter wasn’t supposed to know about his werewolf...ness, after all.

Peter didn’t get called last, but it was close to it. He saw large clowns and mutated dogs with several heads, all the while the students crowed and laughed and shuddered as they boggart twisted and twisted and twisted.

Then it was Peter’s turn.

He thought of what he feared the most. His dad? No, he understood and pitied the man too much for that. Mary? No, he didn’t fear her. He envied her but didn’t fear her.

Himself? Pettigrew?

(In the end, it should have been obvious what his boggart turned into.)

It was a well.

(Covered in circular designs, the stone chipped and the wood long since gone, the rot having destroyed it entirely. Silent and still. Not at all terrifying. Not at all deadly. It wasn’t magical, either. It was exactly how he remembered it, it was regular and tiny and covered in grass. It had used to be in his backyard. Maybe it still was.)

He waved his wand and it turned into a frog. Peter didn’t meet anyone’s eyes on the way to the back of the classroom to join the other students.

Someone snickered, and Remus looked at him with raised eyebrows and quirked lips. Peter didn’t react in any way and stayed silent for the rest of the exercise.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“I almost expected mine to turn into the portal,” Remus confessed on the way back. 

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“You stare at the sky as if hoping the stars would fall upon you.”

Peter spared a glance to the second year beside him. Her bright hair seemed to almost thrive in the night, the astronomy tower looked oddly serene with her beside him. They sat alone there, in front of the night sky. Peter had escaped their dorm that afternoon.

He kept thinking of the well, and before he knew it his feet led him here.

“I don’t,” Peter said. “I just think they’re neat.”

Luna Lovegood smiled vacantly. “They are,” she confirmed. “Perhaps the day they disappear would mean our demise; such pretty things. Very large, fleeting.”

“I think they’re just stars.”

“Do you?” 

“I do.”

She craned her head back and looked up into the heavens as if waiting for something to happen. She was an odd one, Peter reflected, but he already knew that.

“Father has always said that the stars are the souls of fallen pixies. It would explain how they’re so enchanting, wouldn’t it?”

Peter scrunched up his nose. “That’s nice but I think they’re just rocks.” Rocks? Suns? They were something along those lines.

“They’re rocks as long as you think they’re rocks.”

“Well they’re certainly not pixies,” he teased.

Luna laughed loudly, and she managed to make the noise bounce off all of the walls in an odd clatter of joy. “Oh, but they are!”

“There’s no proof. Muggles have proof that they’re rocks. Or far away suns, I don’t remember which exactly. I didn’t read much about it when I could, and I’m failing astronomy.” 

Luna just smiled knowingly. 

“Why’re you here anyway? It’s too late for a second year to be up. I’m allowed here because I’ve got special permission to come here on Wednesdays, as I take astronomy as an elective. You’ll get detention.” He didn’t have special permission because of astronomy actually, he was lying; he had it because Dumbledore gave Remus and him extra allowances. But Peter wasn’t stupid enough to brag about it.

She didn’t reply for a second. “I must’ve misplaced my shoes. I was looking for them and then I found them up here. My feet led me here. Perhaps I should have left, but the stars were too pretty for me to leave.”

“You misplaced them?”

She looked oddly solemn.

“If someone’s taking your things,” Peter mumbled to the night air, “I’ll curse them for you. I know some good curses.”

“No, I think some magical creatures have been running off with them. It’s not very auspicious, but I believe it will pass.”

“There’s rarely magical creatures loose in the castle, least of all who would target your shoes.”

She huffed. “Oh, but there are.”

Peter felt as if they were repeating things. “There’s no proof.”

“Does one need proof?”

“If you’re claiming magical creatures ran off with your shoes, then yeah, maybe a little bit.”

Luna laughed again, and Peter decided that perhaps it was time for him to sneak back to his dorm. He bid her goodbye and made his way to the ladder that lead down to the floor below.

He paused when one hand was on the first rung of the ladder. He turned around.

“I’m Peter Grettigrew, by the way,” he called to her.

Her smile looked almost sad. “Are you?”

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“One of the students here is a devil’s child,” Peter announced as he walked into the dorm. Remus rubbed his eye, hummed in response, and turned another page.

(He liked her.)

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


Remus started to look how Peter did when he was younger; he adopted the same facial expressions, he occasionally scrunched up his face when thinking. 

Peter... wasn’t happy about it.

Yet some part of him found camaraderie in it.

  
  


..

  
  
  


“You’ll have to take at least one break before Halloween, Lupin. I haven’t seen you put a book down other than to sleep, eat or shower since we got here.” Even in classes Peter spotted him with a book under the table. 

Weeks had passed gradually, with short conversations with the Gryffindors and weird glances aimed at them by Lupin and sometimes Snape. Through all of it, Remus was glued to the books. The ‘read’ pile piled higher.

Remus grunted and didn’t answer.

The only real ‘break’ Remus had gotten were in the days after his transformation, on the first of October specifically. The hours of studying and searching were taking their toll in the form of eye bags and a snappy attitude. Peter had taken pity on him long ago and had started to sneak him things from the kitchen, but that didn’t help everything.

  
  


..

  
  
  


October was filled with reading and studying, eating and sleeping, and not much else. It was miserable. Then, on the 30th Remus disappeared again, and came back more tired than ever. “Got a really bad detention with Snape,” Remus muttered on the way to his bed. He watched as he faceplanted on his sheets, and Peter quietly flicked through a few pages of a book he wasn’t reading.

He guessed that Remus was going to the shack for his transformations. He wasn’t sure whether or not Remus was getting the potion, but it wasn’t like he could ask. Sure didn’t seem like it, with how dead he looked.

  
  


..

  
  
  


“Sirius Black!” People hissed and shrieked, “Sirius Black was in the castle!”

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“So Sirius is a criminal, here?” Remus asked lowly in their dorm, the day after Halloween. “Everyone knows he’s trying to kill you? Do they know why?”

“No, and they think he’s trying to kill Harry. He was blamed for killing Lily, James, and a street of muggles. He’s spent thirteen years in Azkaban, recently escaped, and people do think he’s completely guilty.”

“Ah.”

“People don’t know that Pettigrew and him are animagus.”

“Ah.” The blank responses made Peter eerily uncomfortable.

“Remus — this one, Lupin, does know about it.”

“I see.”

A pen scratched on paper.

“Who really did it?” Remus seemed to already know the answer. Who really killed those muggles? The question was phrased almost as an afterthought. 

Peter’s face didn’t change. “Pettigrew.”

“I’d be hard-pressed to find something that wasn’t your fault, these days.” Peter winced, but Remus didn’t look up or notice his distress. Remus curled up with a book and Peter looked over him and tried to pretend his hands weren’t shaking.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“If you do it again,” Remus asked without context on the way to potions, “I’ll murder you.”

“It’s only fair.” It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him! He didn’t do it!

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“You’re back,” Luna said, a week after Halloween.

“I am.”

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


Peter showed Remus the room of requirement ages after its initial mention. He did it after a while of procrastination. Remus hadn’t mentioned it since they first talked about it, so it was Peter who finally pushed him to see it. He did it in the hope that Remus would become more comfortable, and less focused and driven entirely on going through books.

When Remus took control, the room shrunk just enough to hold four beds. It was their dorm room, all it was missing was Peter’s frog’s empty enclosure and a couple of other people. 

“Why is my bed here too?” He wouldn’t have been surprised if Remus had thought his presence in their dorm not worth mentioning. Everything was just how Peter remembered it, from the lamp covered in stickers to the charm hanging from the edge of the bed.

Remus snorted at that, thought up a few books and let out a very faint smile at their sudden appearance, and spread out across his bed. Peter frowned at the sight of them.

“You can’t escape us that easily,” Remus said.

“I’ve been doing it for years,” he hesitated. “You know it won’t end well.” His presence didn’t mean anything good. He knew that better than anyone, and now, Remus was starting to realise that too, on a greater scale.

“You said you wouldn’t do it again.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t mean it?”

“I did.” He wouldn’t repeat his other self’s mistakes. It was born of selfish motives, he knew, but...

Remus gave him a scalding glare. “Then you’re stuck with me. We’ve been through time together, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at you without wanting to punch you in the face, but that’s not something you can throw away.”

Peter looked away. “I got you here,” a point that had been made a thousand times before was made yet again. He made it because he was unsure of Remus’ sudden loyalty — he was sure that after he said it, Remus would go back to the familiar pattern that was their relationship. Peter didn’t know how to deal with this new dynamic Remus was creating.

“You did. And I’ll get us back.” 

Peter swallowed. It hadn’t worked.

“I’m helping!” He spluttered, keeping up a pretence that he wasn’t affected.

Remus laughed, “a lot of help you are.”

Peter bit his lip and sunk into his bed. He spotted the frogs racing around the curtains, and he shifted in his spot in surprise. “You know about the frogs?” The room showed what Remus remembered, after all, and Peter hadn’t expected him to remember them. He didn’t even know Remus had seen them behind his curtains.

“I don’t think you’ve made your bed a day in your life. Everyone knows about the frogs.” 

Peter closed his curtains though, didn’t he? Hey... he sort of remembered Sirius saying something about it. Maybe? Eh, it was a while ago. 

“I don’t get it.”

“My bed is right next to yours.”

“No — that’s not... I don’t get it,” Peter took a deep breath and fidgeted with the covers over his bed. “Why are you being so nice to me? Sure, you’ve yelled and ignored me and you punched me in the face at some point, but you could have done a lot worse. You could’ve left me behind so many times, but you wait in the dorm and after classes. You answer some questions just so that Snape doesn’t focus on me...

“You don’t get mad at me as much as you should’ve been, especially for not telling you some things. And it’s not even recently, it’s before that too. When both James and Sirius didn’t like me, you still got me a Christmas present, and it was like you always tried to persuade them to leave me alone. I don’t get it.”

Remus slowly put down his book and mirrored Peter’s position on his bed. He spread out like a starfish and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know why either,” he said eventually.

“Great.”

“Oh shut up; I can’t explain it, okay? It’s who I am?” He snorted.

“You started to prank Snape on the daily after the carriage incident. You can’t claim ‘good character.’”

“I did do that, didn’t I?” He mused with a large grin, “it’s because Snape’s a git.”

“I’m a git.”

“Yeah. You’re... a Gryffindor?”

“Fat load of luck that did you in this dimension. Betrayed James and Lily, remember?”

Remus hummed. “Then it’s back to my initial answer. I don’t know.”

“Maybe James was the brain of your little group this whole time. You have to have a reason behind it, there’s no way you could naturally just be nice to me.”

“But it was natural,” Remus insisted. “Honestly, I don’t have a reason for it. I haven’t seen some of our interactions as ‘nice.’ Maybe it’s just you? I don’t know.”

“We used to tolerate each other a lot more. And then one day you started hating me.”

“After what you said about Alice’s mum? Of course I did.”

Peter’s face scrunched up. “What’d I say?”

“You joked about getting her mum a get well soon card.”

Oh, he could almost remember that. It must’ve been during a meal. The memory was very fuzzy, but it was there.

“So what? She was talking about her mum being sick, right?”

There was a small silence. Peter could’ve hypothetically heard a pin drop, but instead, he just heard slow breathing from the bed next to his.

“Peter. Peter, Alice’s mum passed away that day. She got a letter from the ministry.”

Oh. Oh, shit. That would indeed explain why the marauders were so pissed at him, hell, Peter was almost pissed at himself. ‘Almost,’ because Peter hadn’t known what they were talking about so he would have known what he said wrong. It was probably just another one of the shitty jokes he had made in the spur of the moment.

“Ah, that’d explain it. Fuck. I must’ve misheard.” He’d have to apologise to Alice once he got back, wouldn’t he? Peter sighed.

“You didn’t know,” Remus said it as if he was talking to himself. It was in a surprised, confused tone. 

“Is your world shifting?” Peter snapped sarcastically, “am I a saint now? I still have that rock I used to throw at Potter, you know.”

He could hear their breathing again for a bit. Their inhales and exhales had synced up.

“Seems like you’re grasping at straws.”

“Huh?”

“Sometimes it seems like you don’t know who you even are.”

Well, yes, but many people were like that. “Do you know who you are?”

“Well, no. I suppose that’s just part of growing up.” Remus hummed and leaned back. He rubbed his nose with a faint smile.

Peter hummed. “We don’t have to be anyone.” Why was he talking so much? It was kind of easy at the moment, and it was all spilling out. “Sometimes I see adults and I don’t think that even then they know who they are. There’s not a time limit for these kinds of things. I get confused about myself but that’s because I already know of another version of myself — it’s like a blueprint that I’m not measuring up to. I don’t know how to explain.

“I’ve lived two lifetimes,” Peter summarised in a low voice, the truth — very much the truth — but it was behind a single larger truth that discarded the fact that the first lifetime had never been Pettigrew. It was said in a tone so musing that it could easily be overlooked, which it was.

“You’ll get it one day,” Remus replied. “You’re right, there isn’t a time limit. You’ll figure out who you are at any point. It’ll be alright, it just might take a while.” 

“It’s weird. Deep down, I think I still am who I used to be.”

“You think that you used to be Pettigrew?” 

“Who knows?” Peter said bitterly. If he had once been Mary, then perhaps people had been a lot of others before themselves. Maybe he was a case of a botched reincarnation. Perhaps what set him apart from the others is that he had the misfortune of remembering.

“You’re not.”

“You don’t think so?”

Peter... wasn’t Pettigrew. Yet he didn’t have a clue who he was. But he didn’t have to be someone, he just had to make it through life long enough to find that out himself. 

It wasn’t a requirement of existing. Babies didn’t pop out and know who they were, and neither did Peter or a lot of other people. All he needed to do was breathe. And keep going.

He was a person, wasn’t that enough to know?

“You’ll figure it out,” Remus said to the open room. “Sometimes I forget who I am too.”

“Who could you be other than Remus Lupin?”

It almost seemed like Remus was going to tell him something when his mouth clicked shut and a joke came out. “Oh who else but Wolfe Jenkins?”

“You’re Remus Lupin,” Peter announced. “I think you can’t be anyone else.”

“You don’t know everything.”

“I don’t,” he confirmed. “But to me, you’re Remus Lupin. I’m Peter Pettigrew, and that’s enough, ain't it Lupin?”

“Remus.”

Peter blinked.

“You’ve always called me Lupin. We’ve known each other for a while. You might as well call me Remus.”

“Oh cool. Remus,” he tried out. The name felt comfortable on his lips.

“Lupin,” Remus finished jokingly. “Alright, we should start reading now. Or rather, I should start reading and you should start staring at a book and doing whatever it is you do.”

“Hey! I bet you’d stop reading too as soon as you saw the term ‘ionic’ when talking about someone’s apparent fantasy of portal technology in the 1930s.”

“I know all about ionics, actually.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Peter hissed.

It was said fondly, and Peter didn’t hate that as much as he should have.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


Remus and Peter walked back from Herbology while picking out dirt from under their nails. 

They trailed behind their classmates, and Peter distantly watched Fred and George attempt to do a cartwheel mirroring each other and then comically fall to the ground halfway through at the same time. 

Remus stiffened.

“What’s up?” Peter stretched his neck and felt a bit relieved at the crack.

“That’s not who I think it is, is it?”

Peter snorted, “chances are if it’s in this reality then yes, because it’s a total crack hole and — oh hey cool it’s Sirius.”

Well, fuck. He could have been more surprised, but he had sort of been expecting it since the moment they had seen the paw prints on his grave.

A black dog was somewhat hidden in a group of shrubs near the entrance of the castle. The group of students in front of them moved through the doors, and Remus’ fingers twitched before grabbing Peter’s robes and dragging him in the direction of the bushes. The dog backed up a bit but seemed to freeze in place when it saw Remus’ face.

“Don’t ‘hey cool it’s Sirius’ me,” Remus hissed under his breath. “If it’s him, then we’re helping him.”

“Why?” Peter whined, “it’s not like I betrayed him. The other one did! Why do I have to help with murder?”

“Not murder! We need to help — hey boy.”

Peter snickered but stopped when Remus’ hand discretely shoved his shoulder.

The dog eyed them suspiciously but seemed focused on Remus more than anything. It must’ve been the curiosity that kept him in place. No doubt he was well aware of Lupin’s presence in the castle and had seen him with his own two eyes. Therefore the presence of Remus, with his new fun age and all, must’ve been confusing him beyond all meaning.

A thousand thoughts were going through Sirius’ head, and Peter watched, amused, slightly behind Remus.

“Hey, I’m Wolfe.”

The dog barked out laughter, and Peter fought to keep his face straight. He received another hit to his shoulder and guessed that he hadn’t succeeded that well.

“It’s not that bad!” Remus defended, “it’s not my fault I was named that!” At his tone, the dog relaxed. 

“Where’s your owner?” Peter asked. Sirius looked more on guard then. The two boys kneeled onto the grass.

“They must’ve left him behind,” Remus said to Peter. Peter blinked.

“Oh no,” Peter replied in a barely passing impersonation of a worried, innocent student, “whatever shall we do?”

Remus didn’t look impressed, but he continued anyway. “He looks hungry, you reckon we should sneak him in?”

The dog perked up.

“What a fantastic idea!”

“To the kitchens then?”

“What a fantastic idea!” He repeated. “How do we hide him?”

“I’ll hide him in my cloak, if we wait a bit the other students will have cleared out the hallways. The only problem would be having him come along willingly.”

As if on cue, Sirius wiggled out from the bushes and cheerfully sidled up to Remus. His nose rubbed across his legs, and Remus seemed almost giddy as his hands went through his rough fur. He shot Peter a worried glance. They had both noticed Sirius’ ribs showing.

“What a good boy,” Peter’s voice delivered the line stilted, “I do sure hope he’ll be up to eating much yummy food, don’t you Wolfe?”

Remus glared at him from over the top of Sirius’ head. “Sure,” he drew out.

“And my, what a pleasant day it is! Wow, we may even have time to have a pleasant sniff of the flowers.”

“Honestly what the fuck, Peter?”

Sirius stopped letting Remus scratch him. His eyes narrowed, and Peter noticed him look him over. He didn’t see any recognition, but nonetheless, Sirius cautiously removed himself from Remus and bolted back into the bushes.

Remus growled and dug his fingers into the grass. “Fuck!”

Peter awkwardly looked away. “Do you think he recognised me?”

“Nah, I reckon he just doesn’t like the name.”

They waited for a short while for Sirius to come back out, but when he didn’t, they gave it up as a lost cause and rose to their feet. 

“So close,” Remus muttered. “We could have gotten more help.”

“He needed help more than we did.”

“It’s a given we would have helped him and also Peter, for fucks sake, what’s with your acting? Next time just stay silent, alright?”

Peter shrugged it off. “Right, right, sorry.”

Remus glared and walked back up to the school with Peter beside him.

  
  


..

  
  


Peter wandered up to the seventh corridor the next weekend with a note in his hands. He had woken up that weekend to find himself alone without the usual presence of Remus flipping pages of books larger than his head and had panicked before noticing the note next to his lamp.

It was written by Remus and told him to go up to the seventh corridor and to ask for their old dorm room again. Peter walked back and forth and then watched the door form on the wall.

He walked through.

A familiar large black dog was bound upon the floor. Ropes covered his sleeping body, and knives held some of the ropes in place on the floor. The handles stuck out into the air like blades of grass. He stared.

“Alright Remus, I’ll bite, what the fuck?”

Remus’ head snapped up and a cheeky grin lit up his face. Peter swallowed a bit too hard.

“I reckoned I could find him again,” Remus breathed, he rose to his feet and showed Peter the bindings. “So I left the note, and then I did. Hit him with a stunner and dragged him up here from some room that the two of us knew from before, it was so early no one noticed. He seemed to have forgotten that I know this castle just as well as he does.”

“You dragged him?” 

“I was too distracted to think of another way! I’m just glad I remembered to tie him for when he wakes up.”

“Ah. So what about the knives holding him down?”

Remus scratched the back of his neck. “You remember that really weird teacher we had a while back who had that weird obsession with knives? I didn’t know if the ropes would hold by themselves, and the room had knives nearby and so I used them.”

“Remus. I just feel as if there were better options for sticking him down.”

“Well I wasn’t thinking about that, I was too concentrated on the fact that I found Sirius again.”

“Good job,” Peter glanced down at Sirius. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. I brought food from the kitchen. He’ll wake soon.”

“‘Soon.’ He looks dead. When the hell did you... How many stunners did you hit the poor bloke with?”

“Three. I got to hand it to him, he’s pretty tough.”

“Remus!” 

“It was necessary.”

Remus looked rather pleased with himself, so Peter just shook his head and sat down next to Sirius’ stunned animagus form. 

“What’s the plan?” Peter asked.

“I was thinking to wait until he wakes up, then tell him how we got here. Then tell him what we know about him..."

Peter groaned.

“It worked with Dumbledore, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, now we’re trapped here instead of your musty old house, and we’re getting nowhere and hey; Dumbledore still smells!”

“We are getting somewhere.”

“Please expand, oh-mighty-one,” Peter quipped.

“Now we’ve got Sirius, and he could help. And here we have access to thousands of books that my ‘musty old house’ did not have.”

If Peter could describe his mind, it would be that moment when you’re looking over your old family photos and realising that your genetics show that you’ll never look like Beyoncé. He raised his eyebrows. “Fine, alright, so we’re getting somewhere. I still think Dumbledore sucks.”

“We’re not arguing about Dumbledore, alright?”

Peter rolled his eyes and childishly folded his arms. “Say Sirius doesn’t believe us, what then?”

“I think I’m proof enough. I look exactly like my other self, and usually you could be proof too but for some reason, you told me you don’t look like your other self.”

“This Pettigrew took after my dad, okay? I look like my mum. Merlin took pity on me in this case, I think, because Pettigrew is not a fetching individual. Not to mention my dad ended up with someone else ‘cos of soulmates and all that.”

“Maybe, looks aren’t too important right now. He has me as enough proof. Anyway, he’ll have to listen to our proof and if he doesn’t, we’ll get more proof. Like... does the map exist here?”

Yeah of course looks weren't important, sure Remus, not like he didn’t grow up to look like a fucking Greek god.

Peter’s head snapped up. “Ha, fuck, forgot about that. Yeah, it does!” Shit! He’d completely forgotten about it! Again! How the fuck had he managed that?

“What do you mean you forgot about that? Peter! The map could ruin everything!”

For fucks sake he had remembered it before, hadn’t he? He’d forgotten about it again after, though. Shit. Shiiiit.

He strategically looked away. “Oh wow look Sirius is waking up is that a book over there I see oh my I love books let me just go read that and help our cause and Remus please let go of my sleeve I need that back because when you pull on it, yes like that, it damages my mobility —“

“Peter!”

“I forgot, okay?”

“No Peter, shut up. He’s waking up.” Yeah, Peter had said that earlier.

Sirius’ dog form moved around restlessly, then all together turned very still while his nose twitched a few times. He jolted and attempted to jump up, but the ropes held strong.

Remus stood up and leaned over him. “Be still, won’t you Sirius?”

From his angle, Sirius couldn’t see Remus, but his ears did perk up and he let out a low growl. He struggled in the ropes harder. That was counterproductive because the ropes only magically tightened.

“My name is Remus Lupin.”

Sirius’ head tried to raise, but once again failed.

“I was born around sixteen years or so, in a different dimension, along with the idiot beside me. I was your friend, and we were in a group called the marauders. I never said it aloud, but I never thought you’d manage to pull off an animagus transformation. Proved me wrong, didn’t you? That was a terrible decision by the way. What with my... condition, there’s no doubt I must’ve harmed you at some point.”

Sirius had gone back to being eerily still.

“You’re innocent,” Peter interrupted. Remus glared at Peter but Peter kept on speaking, “you were betrayed by one of your closest friends. People think this friend is dead, but they’re not. No one knows this truth except for the three people in this room.” And the couple million people back in his first world, but that wasn’t important.

“We want to help you,” Remus interrupted. “But first we want you to hear us out. If we let you borrow my wand, will you listen peacefully without jumping us?”

The dog breathed slowly, before jerking its head in an odd imitation of a nod. Remus smiled and disintegrated the ropes before he passed over the wand quietly. A second later, an emaciated man crouched on the floor with the wand in his hand.

Remus’ face was still.

Sirius’ face was twisted. “You’re bloody bonkers,” he stated. He didn’t give back the wand.

“We have food?” Peter suggested. He edged back.

Sirius didn’t touch it. His eyes shot to land on Peter. “And who’d you be then? You both know who I am. Know a bit too much if I say so myself. And you. You smell similar to someone I once knew.”

“I’ll tell you if you hear us out.” It wouldn’t turn out well anyway he told Sirius, Peter reckoned. So he’d draw it out for as long as humanly possible.

Sirius hummed, his eyes fixed on the wand. He stood to his feet, and Remus and Peter scrambled to follow him. 

“I remember that one,” Sirius mumbled. He pointed to a rock poster above his bed. He studiously ignored the quidditch posters above James’. He collapsed onto the mattress. “Well, fine. Alright, have at it. I’m curious as to what you nutters have to say.”

Remus sat on his bed. Peter would have sat on his too, but he felt like Sirius would then recognise him, and he was pushing it enough. He’d heard Peter’s name earlier, maybe he’d brushed it off as a coincidence. To sit in his bed would ring alarm bells.

(Sitting on James’ bed would probably be sacrilegious to Sirius.)

Peter sat on a pile of books.

“Well then? You can explain it better than me,” Remus looked pleased that Sirius had accepted so easily. He looked towards Peter expectantly.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Fine. Alright, so it started when I was younger. I just sort of knew things about this other dimension. Someplace with another version of me, who I could potentially turn into, and what that potential self had as a life; it was, to put it simply, a potential pile of shit.”

And Peter talked. He dodged around some topics, like his parents and who he once was, and his soul mark as well as a few other personal matters. But he did talk about his roommates, and his fear of that future, and the steps he took to avoid it. Soulmates and soul marks. He talked about Lily and Snape briefly.

He talked about the portals. How they kept showing up, again and again, and again. His rivalry with his roommates.

Sirius seemed to realise who exactly Peter was then. It was either the thirteen years that he was imprisoned that had damaged his reasoning abilities or the stiff denial over the whole ordeal that had made it take so long for it to click. 

Either way, Sirius didn’t attack him. His face grew stony instead, and his nails clutched the bedsheets.

Lily that last day. The portal, and how Peter had stepped towards it. Remus holding on.

The graveyard, Peter’s house, the realisation. The breakdowns and the confessions, although Peter didn’t go into detail as to what they were. Anything personal was kept to himself. Diagon Alley and Remus’ morals. Dumbledore. Hogwarts.

(It always linked back to Hogwarts, didn’t it?)

Remus looked between them steadily. Peter looked at the ground. Sirius looked at nothing and everything at once. He turned to Remus.

“You expect me to believe that shit?”

He nodded.

Sirius’ face didn’t change. “I thought you were Remus’ love child or something when I first met you.”

Peter covered his mouth to hold in a guffaw.

“And you didn’t. Harm me, that is,” he said lowly. “Our plan worked. When we became animagus — you didn’t affect us. Something did happen, in fifth year, but that was all my fault and Snivellus was fine in the end.”

“What happened to Snape?” Remus drew out slowly.

“May or may not have hinted about you and he may or may not have gone to check it out. James saved him.” He coughed. “I shouldn’t believe this bullshit; but, I do, there’s too much proof for it. You know things you really... shouldn’t.”

Remus was too busy glaring at him to acknowledge the second part of what he said. Peter awkwardly smiled. Sirius noticed.

“The only reason you’re not six feet under,” Sirius hissed at Peter, “is because I’m willing to believe that you’re not the same Peter as my Peter. The second you put a ratty claw over the line, I’m tearing you apart, kid or not.”

He swallowed and nodded.

“Now then. That was all bonkers enough for me to believe it.” He tossed the wand in his hand back over to Remus. “I’m in. What’s the plan?”

  
  


..

  
  
  


Sirius scratched under his nose. “Also, I’ve been meaning to ask. Where in Merlin’s saggy underwear are we?”

They explained. He took up residence.

  
  


..

  
  
  


They visited Sirius with constant frequency. He didn’t move much from the room, and they didn’t urge him to, instead, they brought him food for every meal and then would lay out plans for the future.

They’d agreed to help Sirius in exchange for his help in Remus and Peter’s case. Peter believed that the Black library might be helpful, and once he suggested it to Remus, he’d agreed. 

Sirius smacked his hand on the floor. “I just think I should jump him. He’ll listen to me if I do that.”

Remus nodded in agreement.

Peter looked between the two of them, aghast. “Hey, that’s what we should not do! It only worked this time because —“

“I jumped him?” Remus drew out slowly, teasingly.

“No, because —“

Sirius eyed him. He never had been that comfortable with Peter, no matter the differences between him and his alternate self. “I’m not exactly the harbinger of goodwill, Peter.”

“You did it the first time!” Peter finally hissed. “And no, it didn’t work. Instead, Pettigrew got away because you two were too distracted with... other issues.” As in Remus turning into a werewolf, other issues. And dementors.

“What do you suggest then?” Remus asked casually. 

“Homicide. Kill on sight.”

“Peter that isn’t better!”

“Who would’ve thought? That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day!” Sirius crowed.

The visits had varying degrees of success.

“Peter, Sirius, no—“

  
  


..

  
  
  


“What about we lay out cheese for him?”

Remus snorted. “So you’re telling me you’d fall for that, Peter?”

“No?”

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“Behead him,” Sirius suggested semi-seriously. 

Remus shook his head, “that’s not going to prove your innocence. How do you even suggest we do that? Launch a beheading charm at the first hint of a mouse? They’d think Filch’s cat went on a rampage.”

“We can throw knives,” Peter trailed off.

“No!” Remus hissed.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


Peter’s head snapped up. “If I remember correctly, at some point in the future he’ll be found in Hagrid’s hut.”

Sirius grinned. “Great, so we get Hagrid to kill him! Lay out some pesticides, you know.”

Remus frowned. “Small problem, Hagrid couldn’t hurt a baby hippogriff.”

“You’ve obviously never tried Hagrid’s rock cakes,” Sirius muttered.

“Bad example,” Peter shook his head, “no one could hurt a baby hippogriff.“

He then grinned. “We could make Hagrid sit on him!”

“I think Pettigrew would notice —“ Remus started.

“—Hagrid’s massive asscheeks,” Sirius finished. 

  
  


..

  
  
  


“I could set him on fire.”

“Sirius, for the thousandth time, that will not help your case.”

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


Sirius was face-first in his pillow. “I could set his family on fire.”

“Already dead,” Peter helpfully piped up.

“Oh yeah, forgot about that.”

Remus groaned.

  
  
  


..

  
  


Remus was crouched over a large sheet of parchment. His quill did a sturdy line through a terrible drawing of a corridor. “— get it?”

Sirius grinned.

“Got it.”

Peter wiped a bit of drool from his cheek. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Sorry? I missed something.”

Remus groaned. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter.”

  
  


..

  
  
  


It took them three weeks for one of them to find Peter.

In the end, it didn’t matter whether they had a plan or not because Peter was alone when he found him. And he didn’t know shit. Pettigrew was found under a painting in a secret corridor. He was curled up and shaking, and was taken unaware by Peter. The rat looked frightened, which he took advantage of.

“Oh my, my!” He said loudly, “what a poor little thing. My, you must be just starving! Oh, dear. Perhaps you’ll want to come with me, little thing? I have a comfy bed.”

Peter coughed. He was getting severe déjà vu. “Oh no, don’t shy away, I won’t hurt you!”

Pettigrew scampered back, so Peter called on the deity of acting and sunk to his knees. “You poor, pretty thing. You’re so intelligent and smart and funny.” More compliments, “I love your claws, uh — come with me! Uh, I have cheese?"

Pettigrew looked him over once. Twice. Peter bit his lips and fidgeted with his uniform. There was no way in hell this was going to work — Pettigrew shyly moved towards him. Peter swallowed, aghast, but kept the terrible impression of sympathy on his face. 

Alright. That was weird. Maybe he thought him eccentric?

Pettigrew stopped a few centimetres in front of him, and so Peter crouched forward and cautiously picked him up. He could feel fur in some places and bare scratched skin in others; it was disgusting, he preferred frogs.

He’d never expected to ever see, let alone hold another version of himself, so he carried Peter up the stairs to the seventh floor with a slight degree of awe. “You poor little thing,” he cooed. Pettigrew was gross, he wanted to chuck him out a window. “You must be starving, come on, my friend and I stored food in a secret room up here. It is mighty comfy!”

Peter... should just stop talking.

“Oh me oh my, what a pleasant day it is, although your current situation is rather unflattering!” Fuck. Him.

He casually held Pettigrew to his chest to hide his flustered face. He had no idea what he was doing.

“I think it was this way, oh no it was this way, or was it this way?” He walked back and forth in front of the door, and when it finally appeared, Peter sighed in relief and practically ran inside. He kicked the door shut behind him and carried Peter to his bed. Pettigrew was beginning to squirm in his hands, so Peter clutched him tighter. He winced at the feeling of sharp claws against his skin. “It’s so funny, right?” He said loudly, “this secret room looks just like a dorm room!”

Peter saw black ears quirk up from behind James’ bed. 

“I’m going to name you — alright okay I’ll stop. Stop squirming, oh Merlin you’re a skittish pain in the ass.” He balanced Peter in one hand against his chest, and felt claws scratch through his fingers and dye the gold parts of his tie red. He winced. Peter dug into his pocket and drew out his wand. The tip touched Pettigrew’s head lightly.

There was a small flash of light (holy shit that worked, he hadn’t even practiced), and a big black dog burst out onto James’ bed and skidded over to Peter’s side.

Pettigrew let out loud breathy pants, his figure was keeled on his back. He opened small, squinty eyes to the sight of Sirius Black and the boy that looked eerily familiar.

Peter had always valued self-preservation; did it count as traitorous to that value when he so obviously betrayed his alternate self? 

(No, they weren’t the same person.)

“Well, Peter,” Sirius grinned madly. His foot slammed down onto Pettigrew’s chest, and he whimpered. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


To summarise, there had been a lot of yelling that day. Peter watched in awe as Sirius went through all the points he had in the book, all the while lamenting and yelling to such an extent that Pettigrew had wet himself.

Sirius had taken Peter’s wand at some point, and Peter hadn’t even noticed until the first jabbing hex. Pettigrew lay quaking on the floor, bound by ropes from said wand. Peter had enough intelligence to just let Sirius have it. He retreated to his bed, where he watched with his elbows on the knees of his folded legs, and his face cupped.

The door opened.

“Peter, you skipped Transfiguration! Why’d you decide to wag that class? Seriously, what was your train of thought? Minnie was furious,” Remus said as he walked through the door. 

He came to a halting stop.

“Sirius, please, it — it wasn’t my fault, it was the dark lord, he has power, lots of lots of power, more than you could ever imagine!”

“You betrayed your best friends, Peter!”

Peter waved from his spot on the bed. Remus looked between the three of them. He locked the door behind him.

“What did I miss?” He didn’t look at all upset by what was happening. Remus avoided the sweating mass on the floor and the two beds close to him and sat next to Peter. Peter grinned at him.

“Found him on the way to Transfiguration, so I brought him up here and next thing you know it, this was happening. Did I miss anything important?”

“We’ve got two feet of parchment to write on the uses of transfiguring owls into tea kettles.” Remus got comfortable and put his bag onto the floor. He leaned back and watched Sirius yell at Pettigrew. “So this has been going on for a while, huh?”

“This single hour has passed in a flash. It’s very entertaining. Hey Remus, do I sound like that?” Peter pointed to Pettigrew’s writhing form.

“There’s nothing I could do, Sirius! I couldn’t help it! The dark lord knows everything, there was no way I could save myself unless I did what he told me to do.”

“Yeah,” Remus said.

“Then you should have died!” Sirius barked. “Just like I would have, just like Remus would have... just like we would have done for you!”

Pettigrew whimpered.

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Remus repeated, looking between Peter and Pettigrew, “for sure.”

“He didn’t even say anything.”

“I know.”

“That’s mean,” he said solemnly. They both ignored the screeches of Pettigrew as Sirius kicked him in the leg.

“We were friends!” Sirius hissed, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hm,” Remus rolled his eyes. Peter sighed and kicked his legs up across Remus, who glared at him briefly but decided to take the action in stride.

Sirius stomped around Pettigrew, who squealed and squeaked and begged. Watching the man was almost nauseating. Peter dug into the drawer beside his bed and drew out a chocolate frog, he threw a second one to Remus.

Almost, nauseating. Almost.

They sat back, at ease.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


Peter didn’t have any friends. He had an almost-could-possibly-be-a-friend in Remus, but that was about it. He had given his loyalty to his frog, but he had died, so.

To go against loyalty, no matter how small, no matter how big; seemed preposterous. He had so little going for him, so to give up something like that was practically unthinkable.

His friendship with Lily and Snape didn’t count since he had been skeptical of them since the beginning. 

Pettigrew was a warning, in a sense, and while that warning had lead Peter to become a little bit twisted and malevolent at times, at least he knew about what to avoid to keep that little moral system in his head going strong.

Loyalty. An important ideology, right up there next to self-preservation.

(That had been the issue with Pettigrew though, hadn’t it been? Self-preservation or loyalty. Self-preservation had won, and so Peter knew what to do to not follow in Pettigrew’s footsteps. Not give up self-preservation to protect his friends; oh hell no, but to just not befriend them in the first place. And it had worked. Momentarily.)

  
  


..

  
  
  


“Sirius Black!” McGonagall cried, aghast. She drew out her wand and fiercely pointed it at his chest.

“Don’t be too hasty, Minnie! I’ve got something that you’d want to see.”

Peter, hiding behind a banister nearby, snickered. It sounded like Sirius planned to flash her or something. Remus elbowed him, and pulled him a bit more out of view.

“You behind bars, I would hope! You don’t plan to come quietly, by any chance?”

Rapid footsteps travelled down the hallway, and the other Lupin grabbed Sirius’ arm and held him in place. His wand pointed at his temple. He’d been walking by at just the right time. Harsh breathing came from Lupin. He looked surprised but determined. McGonagall nodded at him.

“Not in the slightest!” Sirius said cheerily. He maintained eye contact and smirked. “This is a fun reunion. Do you want to see Peter, too?”

Lupin winced and the wand dug in tighter.

McGonagall glowered. “You’ll put down that wand, please, Mr. Black.”

Sirius easily lowered the wand to the ground and showed his empty hands, almost teasingly. He grinned, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Ah, so you don’t want to see Peter?”

“Maybe we would,” Lupin hissed, “if you hadn’t fucking — why are you here, Sirius? Why did you come? Was it for Harry?”

Sirius’ smile dropped faintly at that. “I’ll have Harry soon enough.” 

Peter massaged the crease between his eyebrows. Some things didn’t change.

“Stupefy!” McGonagall gasped. 

Sirius leaped to the side, and his grin picked up again. He dug into his robes and with a very strong yank that threw Lupin off-balance, withdrew a cage where a single rat lay. “Sorry Minnie, but I’ve got to — oof!” He dodged a spell aimed towards his head.

“Am I like that?” Remus whispered to Peter, looking at Lupin’s furious form. Lupin was practically shaking.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got him!” Sirius crowed to them, “Peter Pettigrew, he’s alive! I’ve got him.”

“Mr. Black, you’re insane!”

Sirius shoved the cage into the air in front of her and dangled it obnoxiously, “he’s here. Can you see him? It’s him!”

McGonagall bristled. “That’s a rat; please just — stupefy!”

“I’d look at the map again if I were you, moony!”

The map? Huh? Lupin wasn’t supposed to have gotten it yet. Did he have it? Peter looked over Lupin’s figure again and gasped. Peter and Remus’ intervention had affected the plot in some way they hadn’t seen. Lupin had the map, it was sticking out of his pocket.

Lupin stared at the rat, aghast. He lowered his wand. “You’re... delusional.” He looked between the two of them slowly and stepped back to open the map sticking out of his pocket as McGonagall shot a couple of spells at Sirius. Sirius started to look worryingly like his cousin; he was jumping back and forth while cackling wildly, which McGonagall must have recognised because she started firing at a more rapid pace.

Lupin’s eyes contained ferocity, and he looked from the map to the cage. “No,” he whispered. “It’s... Sirius, it’s?”

Sirius nodded, but the distraction meant that the newest spell in his direction went unnoticed by him. Lupin stepped forward and instated a shield in front of them both. McGonagall’s face twisted. Lupin swallowed, his face held stone-cold bewilderment and horrified surprise.

McGonagall clenched her wand tighter. “You’re not telling me you’re a traitor too, Mr. Lupin?”

“Neither of us are,” Lupin swallowed. He moved to grab the cage, but Sirius’ iron grip held it in place. He settled for gesturing to it instead, “that’s not just a rat. It’s... it’s Peter Pettigrew.”

McGonagall raised her greying eyebrows, “you’re not trying to tell me Mr. Pettigrew is an animagus, are you?”

Sirius smirked. “He is! He also betrayed Lily and James! Didn’t you, Peter?” He shook the cage.

Peter grinned from behind the banister. It had taken a while, but it was all coming together. McGonagall was a smart woman, it hadn’t taken her long to connect the dots.

Sirius cackled and slowly moved to take the wand he had dropped earlier back off the floor, and McGonagall didn’t stop him. While McGonagall thought through everything, Lupin’s eyes were darting between Sirius and Pettigrew. “So you changed, then, didn’t you? Which is why — oh Merlin, Sirius.” He embraced Sirius then, and the two held each other tightly for a few seconds while McGonagall stared at the cage in indignation.

“He is,” Lupin answered McGonagall. “He became one in our fifth year of Hogwarts.”

“Did he now?” She drew out, disbelievingly. 

“We all did,” Sirius crowed. “James, Pettigrew, and I. Now that we’ve got this sorted, can I kill him?”

“Mr. Black you are not killing Mr... Mr. Pettigrew, if what you claim is right. Might I remind you that your claim has no proof?”

“He betrayed them, Minnie!” Sirius blew up, “we changed secret keeper, then Peter killed those muggles and — he killed them. He killed them, and I’m finally going to commit the crime I was imprisoned for!” Oh, that wasn’t planned.

“No, you’re not, Expelliarmus!” The wand sailed directly into McGonagall’s waiting hand. Peter stared, mouth agape. That time the spell had easily hit him; did that mean that earlier she was...?

“If what you’re saying is true,” she said slowly, “then I believe this matter has to be taken to Dumbledore directly. There you will supply sufficient proof. We’ve got dementors I would rather see elsewhere, if at all.”

“We have proof,” Lupin said.

“I hope for your sake you do. Now come along, and step in here so we don’t bother the students.”

The three then made their way inside, and seconds later a silver cat bounded through the door. Remus cancelled the silencing wards he had put around their hiding place. 

“That went well,” Remus noted.

Peter smiled. “Yeah. It did.”

“Kitchens?”

“Kitchens. It’s all up to him now.”

Remus softly ruffled Peter's hair and raised to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @YouMakeTheSunSmile for looking over this chapter for me (-:  
> > https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouMakeTheSunSmile/profile
> 
> A few things,
> 
> 1\. September first had a full moon in 1993 (which is around when they arrived), but I can’t be fucked editing to make sure that this makes sense for the fic so let’s just read this as ‘yeah but not this time.’ Peak quality literature everybody
> 
> 2\. I lost interest for the HP fandom three chapters ago. I’ve decided to take a break on this fic until I regain interest (whenever that is), so that the chapters don’t become too blurgh. I’m not dropping it, just might be a brief hiatus
> 
> 3\. Merry Christmas for the other day, if you celebrate it
> 
> Thanks everyone, kudos or comment if you’d like to, happy holidays


	10. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: character death/ suicidal themes
> 
> Moments flash quickly by. Mary sits in between it all. Peter watches, waiting. Waiting, waiting.
> 
> A short, present tense chapter.

What are you supposed to do after you leave a life of trauma behind you? You’re supposed to just forget it, Peter guesses. You’re supposed to move on. What does it matter if you’ve suffered if there’s nothing to show that you’ve ever suffered in the first place? He’s thought it before. He’ll think it again.

When Peter was Mary, it had been easier. But that wasn’t to say that it had been good. Mary had, after all, sat on the edge of the well that day.

He’s not some sort of philosophical being. He can’t contemplate his past life with the dignity and grace of someone much older than himself, or someone wiser. Fact of the matter is that he’s some average joe that was forced into this situation.

There’s a window on the fourth floor next to the room of requirement, and somehow he’s found himself sitting in front of it. Well actually there are many windows but he’s in front of the largest. It’s silent up here, and he can hear wind bat against the glass. It’s peaceful, which makes it frustrating that for whatever reason he’s spiralling down the familiar path of being resentful over his rebirth.

People aren’t supposed to wallow in their trauma. At least, Peter doesn’t think so. He should be glad that he’s not Mary anymore — because it wasn’t a good life, no matter what some part of him tries to tell him sometimes.

  
Being away from Mary allows him to wonder about the _what ifs._ From this separated position it’s hard not to. What if Mary had been a little bit better? What if she had lived on? What if Mary could have just taken on (magically!) some of Peter’s life experience and learned to not give a shit?

Mary could have been so much _better_.

_But Mary is dead_. Peter looks back on her and thinks that her life was a tragedy. She was young, confused, spiteful and scared. By all means Peter should just recognise that and move on. But he can’t, because at the end of the day Peter might not be Mary anymore but he has her memories, and memories aren’t something you can just let go of.

How is he supposed to forget? _Why_? Because no one else is around to remember? No one _can_ remember?

He’s in a situation that isn’t necessarily better, but it is removed. If he were older and more experienced perhaps he’d be able to let go of Mary. But he can’t. He’s so, so angry. There’s so much anger in him when he thinks of what happened to Mary that last day. How she had sat on the edge of the stone well, and looked down into it.

He remembers the shadows that leered down on her from the trees. He remembers the setting sun, and how Mary had been so full of anger that she was practically filled to the brim with it. He remembers her words. “I fucking hate them!” She had ranted to an empty garden, “they’re all so mean.”

Empty gardens don’t reply, of course. No one had been there to save Mary that day. That, Peter reflects to the window, was a tragedy. He regrets that there was no one there to stop her.

There is no closure with Mary. The end of Mary’s small saga was death, and that was _it_. There was no petty revenge on school bullies, or coming to terms with it over many years. There was no sudden peace with her surroundings. It was just boom, snap snap, over.

(Behind him wanders a lone ginger-haired male, strangely without his twin. Peter notices him stop in front of the room of requirement. Some part of Peter tugs at his own sleeve and tells him that the boy shouldn’t be here.

Then the room of requirement’s door opens after a bit of pacing, and Peter is left alone on the fourth floor. Alarm bells are ringing, but Peter is melancholy and all he can think about is Mary. He knows he should be confused. He knows that. But by fates design or otherwise it’s soon out of his head.)

Like always Mary finds herself at the very forefront of his mind. He recalls her sitting down on the edge of a well amidst a large, windy garden at sunset. Her legs swing backwards and forwards. Her mind paces, the wind blows in her hair. And then there’s a large gust of wind, and then —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I’ve added this note just to clear some things up for you
> 
> This is mostly just a flashback chapter, clearing up the circumstances of Mary’s death  
> No, Peter has not just jumped from the window on the fourth floor. He’s reflecting on Mary, who he can remember sitting on the edge of the well the day SHE died  
> At this point in time Peter is a-ok


	11. Honey, you got a big storm comin’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn’t forget about the bigger picture, did you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve given up on having good chapter titles for this fic

  
It was a late March day that Harry Potter’s life changed. Peter watched as McGonagall took him out of the great hall. Everyone was too busy worrying to spot the corners of her mouth twitching as she lead him out.

People were curious, but Remus and Peter exchanged knowing looks. By the looks of things, the whole thing had gone well. But Peter hadn’t doubted that it would — fact was, Sirius came off as someone hard to dislike. It was easy to doubt that he was a bad guy. 

Dumbledore had always been someone that striked Peter as slightly untrustworthy, despite his good intentions, and leaving everything to McGonagall before him had obviously reflected well.

Remus elbowed Peter proudly, as if saying ‘we did that.’ 

  
  
  


..

  
  
  
  


(That day Harry had come back with the biggest smile on his face. It practically lit up the entire common room. Gryffindor smiled with him, sometimes unknowingly, in the face of it. Once again, Remus and Peter exchanged looks, and smiled. They did that.)

(Maybe Peter’s existence wasn’t so bad, if they could do something like that.)

(Maybe, Remus had said late at night, maybe their trip through the portal wasn’t that bad, if they allowed that to happen. That hadn’t happened originally, had it?)

(No, it had not, Peter said back.)

(And it hadn’t. Maybe there’d be consequences, maybe everything would turn up ass over tits but for that day, and that day alone, it’d be worth it. Had Harry ever been that happy before? Not likely.)

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


_ Hey Peter and Remus, _

_ Everything has been going alright. The ministry’s being a pain in the ass, as you’d expect. They wanted to put me back in jail for the whole ‘animagus’ thing, but a couple of people — Amelia Bones, Dumbledore, some random hot brunette in the front row of the wizard court — stopped that in its tracks. Turns out, being imprisoned when you were innocent for thirteen years makes the ministry indebted to you. Funny that. The animagus charges were wiped. _

_ Maybe my stunning good looks helped. _

_ Peter, on the other hand, is getting charges on all sides. I don’t think I mind putting him in Azkaban; it’s not as good as killing the bastard, but it’s alright, and Harry prefers it anyway. Peter had looked like he wanted to bolt the whole time. Serves the fucker right! _

_ Harry’s happy with me, I think. He deserves more. I explained everything to him, and he tells me that there’s nothing to forgive. He’s James’ son, alright. _

_ As for your issue; my library is open to you, but keep in mind there’s some dark bullshit in that bloody mess, and I claim no knowledge or responsibility over any of it. I hate that house with a burning passion, but a deal’s a deal. _

_ Thank you. You know what for. _

_ If you don’t know where to go on the Easter holidays, after Hogwarts even, my home is open to you.  _

_ Peter will have to live at the opposite side of the house to me.  _

_ I’m getting apology letters on all sides. People claiming they knew I was innocent all along; it’s a mess. Harry’s helping me out with it, but his method of ‘dealing with fan mail,’ he’s referred to it as, is burning every single letter. It works. Apparently he had a teacher who once got him to help answer his fan mail; got to admit, I prefer Harry’s method. If I get another marriage proposal I may very well just accept, and do something untoward halfway up the aisle like flashing the wedding photographer. _

_ That’d scare them off for sure. _

_ Anyway, thanks again, _

_ Sirius. _

Peter took the letter from Remus after he had read it, and after he too was done, he set it down and scowled. “What does he mean to _the opposite side of the —_ “

  
  
  
  


..

  
  
  


_ Hey Sirius, _

_ Go fuck yourself. _

_ Peter. _

  
  


..

  
  


_ Sirius, _

_ Update us on what happens with Pettigrew, for your sake I hope he gets a life sentence. And really, they dropped the animagus charges that easily? The ministry must really be trying to please you. But I guess in a way you’ve already served them. Hope you get compensation in some way. _

_ I’m glad you and Harry are getting along. Everyone’s been seeing his faces from your correspondence from the Gryffindor table, and I don’t think anyone’s ever seen Harry this happy before. Last week Ron Weasley, Harry’s friend, claimed that something awful was bound to happen because of how happy he was. ‘Restore the balance,’ Ron said. Apparently it didn’t happen often even from before we came here, so I wouldn’t worry if I were you, you’re doing great. _

_ We’d love to take up your offer, thank you. We’ll stay here for Easter, but during the Summer holidays, that’d be great. We’ll be out of your hair before the Summer is up.  _

_ Also, make sure you’re checking with the letters before you burn them, you never know what people might stick inside them. _

_ Please don’t flash a wedding photographer. The marriage proposals must be interesting though, I wonder who’s sending them off to you. Maybe if you’re lucky the brunette from the wizard court might be interested. _

_ We’ll see you in three months then, _

_ Remus Lupin. _

_ Ps. Peter seems pissed at your comment about housing arrangements. If he seems a little bit angry in his letter to you, that would be why.  _

Remus took the letter held out to him from Peter, and tied them together and then to the leg of a rather energetic looking owl. It hooted once, twice, three times before it flew away with the wind.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


Remus put down the book in his hands and raised to his feet. “There’s nothing!” He hissed, “absolutely nothing. It’s all lies, garbage, folk tales and _garbage_.”

“You’ll find something,” Peter absently turned one of the pages of his book. He wasn’t really reading, rather looking at the pictures, but in his defence pictures gave a lot away about the contents of the book.

“Shut the fuck up Peter.”

Ah, so he was _really_ upset then. Peter couldn’t blame him, they’d been at Hogwarts for months, and the only knowledge they’d gained was that it was fairly easy to befriend people in Gryffindor accidentally. Gryffindors were really easygoing, and after the whole Sirius debacle, it was like they collectively became a brighter, more annoying bunch.

A lot of people were fond of Harry. They always watched him, even if sometimes the boy didn’t notice. So when he was happy, they were happy. 

There was a large sheep mentality though, so it wasn’t too hard to get them all angry at him, but it was a good year so they weren’t.

“These books, they’re all _worthless_ ; they go on too many tangents, and _none_ of those tangents even remotely relate to what we’re looking for. Hell, most mention time travelling portals in the bloody title, yet don’t mention any actually concerning time. Or some books on portals mention time portals, but absolutely none are like the one we went through. None have the same pattern, or the same shape, and it’s _ridiculous_!”

Peter tastefully put down the book to hear Remus out.

“We’ve got three months left until the end of this year, and what have we done? We’ve read books, we’ve helped a criminal get pardoned, we’ve befriended maybe five people—“

“—seven, I think, but does it really count if we never actually talk to them—“

“—and we’ve done class work and twiddled our thumbs! We’ve gotten nowhere.”

Remus threw the book into the corner where they had initially started stacking finished books, it landed open and the pages creased — no floor was visible, the pile nearly reached the ceiling. Remus stormed into the bathroom, and seconds later Peter heard the shower running.

Peter neatened up the stacks of books, and walked back through the noticeably larger corridor between the beds. It was bigger, because of how many they had gotten through and thus shoved further out of the way and into the corner. Remus was right; they had utterly exhausted the Hogwarts library, as well as the restricted section.

There were thirty or so books at Hogwarts that were completely dedicated to portals throughout history. None mentioned the kind that had used to follow Peter around — the same kind that brought them here. The books mentioned ones in the sky, ones in old dungeons and caves, in ruins and fables. 

Remus had been losing hope in the books for a while; Peter saw it in the new crease between his eyebrows, and the way he’d stopped giving up sleep to read. He’d given up. A part of Peter was relieved that he was sleeping more regularly though.   


The days after full moons were just miserable. Stress, no rest, and post-transformation pains made a recipe for batshit feral. Peter had started to hide chocolate among Remus’ belongings those days more than ever before; not for compassion, but for protection. For himself, obviously.

Peter sympathetically glanced at the white bathroom door, and licked his lips and tidied up the room. He picked up rubbish and vanished it, and organised the space. Peter then settled back on his bed and picked up a book with particularly interesting pictures. The walls were all bare, because Remus had seen the space as temporary and Peter didn’t want to spend any of the money Dumbledore had given them on posters.

(Instead he’d spent it on food, which wasn’t any better.)

A few minutes later, Remus came out in a towel and dug around in his trunk for clothes while Peter respectfully averted his eyes as per usual. Peter expected him to go back to the bathroom to get changed, because they never changed in the same room, but instead Remus dumped his clothes onto his bed and sunk down onto the covers, still in his towel. Peter heard it rather than saw the action.

Peter kept his nose in his book.

“I just want to go back,” Remus murmured. “The Black library... if it doesn’t have anything, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Once again, Peter thought of the well. Once again, Peter didn’t say anything. Perhaps it could be helpful in some way, sure, but honestly when he looked back on it, it was just a normal well. And how would they find it anyway? Yeah, it was really only good as a passing thought.

He heard the sound of a towel being moved to dry hair, and he kept his head stubbornly down. “Dumbledore is being helpful, giving us money and a place to stay. But he’s the greatest wizard — couldn’t he do more?”

Peter licked his lips and replied, “Dumbledore does the bare minimum, I think that’s his thing.”

“Well it’d be great if it wasn’t his ‘thing.’”

“You need a break.”

“Water is wet.”

“We can go loot a basilisk if you want.”

He turned a page of his book.

There was a pause. “ _Sorry, we could do what now?_ ”

Peter had been thinking about it for a while.

The basilisk, while it would play a part later in the original story, would sit there for years before it eventually did. If Peter left behind a few fangs, the storyline would be fine. While the storyline was somewhat messed up due to interference already — the whole Sirius Black thing, among other events — it would be best to keep as much as they could the same.

Why would they loot a basilisk? Dumbledore, mostly. They had been given a lot of money via pity, and Peter knew Remus enough to realise that he hated being in debt, and Peter hated to deal with Remus while he moped because he hated being in debt. So looting the basilisk was a great idea. 

All they’d need was some skin, a few teeth, and they’d have paid back Dumbledore a few times over. It’d be very stress-relieving. They’d just need to persuade Harry to open the bathroom, and he’d do it easily because Harry had no danger radar. He’d probably be all like, ‘hey cool, but can Hermione and Ron come?’ And then that’d be it, so to get to the basilisk would be easy enough.

And if Harry couldn’t make it, he could always just make hissing noises at the tap for a while by himself. Snake stuff sounds the same anyway. 

“Loot a basilisk. There’s one under the school.”

“There’s a _basilisk_ under the _school_?” The information didn’t seem to be getting through. Peter turned a page of his book and pretended that the suggestion was casual, and not born of the awkwardness of attempting to distract himself from the fact that his roommate was half naked. 

“It’s dead, and yeah. Harry killed it last year. So do you want to loot it or not? We can pay back Dumbledore, it’d be fun.”

Peter stared at his page. He didn’t understand why he felt as flustered as he did, or why he cared; but he could definitely feel himself trying to slow his breathing and maintain a calm and cool facade. Did it really matter about the facade when Remus had already seen him hug a house-elf, as well as do a variety of rather odd things? Probably not, but it was what was keeping him sane.

“You know what? I don’t even want to question any of that. Of course he did. Sounds fun. I’m in, let me get changed first.”

“What, _now_?” Peter squeaked.

“I’m curious, so yeah, let’s go.”

Peter heard footsteps retreating into the bathroom, and finally Peter allowed himself to look up. The space where Remus had been sitting looked slightly damp. 

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“Harry, c’mere.” Peter wandered up to Harry in the common room, and Harry brightened at his sudden appearance.

“Hey Peter! Did you get any new letters from Sirius? We’ve been talking for the past month or so and he said that — _woah_ , what’s — _hey_!”

Peter grabbed his arm and started to attempt to pull him outside, but he was quickly interrupted by Ron’s hands holding him in place.

“Oi, let go of my best mate!”

“You come too,” Peter said. “Remus is grabbing Hermione.”

They’d both guessed that Harry would want to bring his friends, so Remus had decided to try his luck at searching the library for her. They’d meet in the girl’s bathroom later. It’d taken a while to convince Remus that Peter wasn’t fucking with him.

Harry calmed down a little bit at that. “Fine, but we’ve got to put our stuff away.”

“You were studying?” Peter craned his neck to look at the table they had been sitting at, “sorry to bother you.”

“Yeah, we were,” Ron said.

“No, we weren’t,” Harry said at the same time. “Actually we were just about to pack up. Wait here for a bit.” They exchanged glances and quickly did an errand to drop their things off in the dorm. They came back down and immediately walked over to Peter. Peter blamed the sudden trust on Sirius; amazing what assisting a guy’s innocent godfather from prison did to the guy’s sudden faith in you.

Hell, Remus and Peter were in their room so much that the only time they ever talked to the golden trio or anyone from school was at mealtimes. 

They followed him out, and as soon as they exited Harry turned towards him. “Everything alright, mate?”

“Remus and I are going to go loot the basilisk in the chamber. Want to come?”

Harry and Ron’s reactions were very similar to Remus’. “Sorry, what?” Harry asked. “How do you know about that?”

“ _Huh?!_ ”

Peter blinked. “Gossip. It’s not like I know where it is though, or anything, just that there’s a basilisk in a chamber under the school and that Harry apparently killed it with his... parseltongue abilities?” A lie. “Not gonna question that. Anyway I want to find it and see how much I can sell some of its parts for.”

Ron grinned, “can we take some stuff too?” Ha! And Remus said he was a bad liar! Who could lie like a pro to thirteen or fourteen year olds? Peter could! _Eat it, Remus._

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron, who turned a bit red and scratched the back of his neck.

“Rumours, you know,” Peter remarked casually. He was hoping that they were both unfamiliar enough to not recognise his quirk; whatever it was, Sirius and Remus still refused to tell him.

Harry didn’t look convinced. “People don’t know about the basilisk.”

Because yes, Sirius knew what the quirk was too! Sirius told Peter that originally, the marauders had informed Pettigrew, because he too had the quirk, about it so that they could hide better from the teachers. Pettigrew had been easily able to fix it.

Sirius was paranoid that if Peter learned how to fix his, it’d be harder to tell if he betrayed them later; he didn’t want to repeat his mistakes. Sirius couldn’t trust Peter as far as he could throw him.

“Some do, but uhm. I have... seer-like abilities. Ever wonder how I knew about Sirius enough to help him?” Merlin that was bullshit.

Harry and Ron stared at him.

Peter awkwardly licked his lips and turned his eyes to the side.

Ron shrugged. “Wicked! Makes sense. So when’re we gonna do it?”

That was too easy. Honestly he was kind of disappointed.

Well. Not really. Them being gullible worked in his favour — although it did make him wonder how they got through seven books.

“Now, we’ll meet Hermione and Remus in the girl’s bathroom.” He started walking towards the entrance of the common room, and Ron and Harry followed after him without thinking.

Harry frowned, “so you _do_ know where the entrance is. Is that because of your abilities too?” Oh. Fuck. Peter nearly stumbled but was able to neatly make it outside to the hallway outside the common room without faltering too much. The three of them faced each other.

“Ah yes,” he fibbed. “But I don’t know exactly where it is in the bathroom. Just the general location.”

“Hm, okay then... oh, apparently,” Ron said, “Trelawny is a seer too, but I don’t believe it —“

“Sounds fun, doesn’t it Gred?”

Peter and Ron jumped. Harry looked unaffected.

“Does indeed, Feorge. Room for two more?”

“Could do a lot of things with basilisk skin.”

Ron’s face grew moody, “yeah well, no one invited you!”

Fred grinned. “Itty Ronniekins, of course he did. We’re good friends, ain’t we Peter?”

“Bestest of buds!”

Peter surveyed the group gathered around him and shrugged. The fat lady watched the gathering with barely concealed interest — she had replaced the knight after Sirius’ innocence was revealed, but she still didn’t seem to like him that much. Someone had questioned her about it the week after he was exonerated, and she had huffed and fumed.

“What do you say, Harry?” Peter asked him. He was the one who would let them into the chamber, so he could logically make Harry make the decision so Peter didn’t have to do it.

“Ron?” Harry passed on the question.

Ron pursed his lips. “They should bugger off.”

“Yeah, you can come,” Harry decided.

“ _Hey_!” Harry snorted and elbowed Ron playfully.

“Ah Harry,” George winked. “A real saviour.”

Ron rolled his eyes, and as the group turned around, they missed the odd look that crossed George’s face. His hand twitched towards his bag.

The group of five made their way to the girl’s bathroom.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“Hello,” Remus greeted them. He cheerfully closed the bathroom door behind them, while Hermione crossed her arms in the corner. “Everyone ready?” He was completely unphased at the additions to the initial agreement of people. 

Fred and George nodded identically.

“I think a teacher should come with us,” Hermione said clearly after everyone had either waved or said a short ‘hi’ and an agreement back. “We don’t know what’s been there.”

“A load of rats,” Harry piped up. “And people. There’s skulls everywhere.”

“Wicked,” one of the twins whispered to the other. Peter couldn’t tell them apart, because they had swapped around while walking over.

“C’mon Hermione,” Ron drawled, “we’ll be _fine_. Harry’s been there before, haven’t you Harry?”

“I killed the basilisk,” he reminded Hermione helpfully.

“And he turned out _great_ , so it’s completely safe.”

“I’ve still got a scar across my shoulder, from where it bit—“

“Completely safe,” Ron repeated loudly over him. A twin chuckled.

“It’s barbaric,” Hermione demurred, “we might get stuck, or we might get lost, or, or — _skeletons_ , Harry. We shouldn’t go down there.”

Remus grinned. “I thought you wanted to see an ancient, rarely seen before part of Hogwarts. There might be hidden books, or hidden rooms or murals...”

She huffed and looked away. Peter was about to open his mouth, but both Ron and Harry covered it with their hands. The twins patted his shoulders.

It was silent.

“Do... you really think we might find books?” 

Harry smirked. “There’s a hell of a chance, ‘mione. Imagine, undiscovered for _centuries_.”

Ron threw him a subtle thumbs up.

Remus met Peter’s eyes and they shared a knowing look. She uncrossed her arms and turned back to face them. “Fine. Fine! For the record, I know you’re manipulating me.”

“We know, Hermione. We know,” Ron slunk an arm over her shoulder and drew her close while she looked away angrily. She didn’t pull away, but she did step on his foot.

“Right then Harry,” a twin said, “let’s go to the chamber. I’m dying to see where it is.”

Harry hissed at a sink. There was a clicking noise, and a few seconds later the entrance was revealed. Hermione, Remus and the twins stared.

“Oh,” a twin swallowed.

Peter stared at him. “Did... you just think we were hanging out in the girls bathroom for no reason?”

“You gotta do what you gotta do. I don’t judge.”

  
  
  
  


..

  
  
  
  


“Slides,” a twin tutted, “in corridors, down into a secret chamber, over the girl’s dormitory staircase — everywhere in this castle.”

“I think this is evidence that Slytherin designed the slides,” the other whispered to him loudly. “Maybe it means Slytherin wasn’t as bad as people think he was.”

They paused and thought about it. “Nah,” they said at the same time. Peter just didn’t understand how designing slides made someone a good person. 

Hermione peered down the slide and turned to meet their eyes with raised eyebrows. “I think Salazar Slytherin could very well have been a good person. Slytherins, too, could possibly be alright. I think the century long rivalry is just ridiculous.”

Peter hummed. “I don’t think people hate Slytherin because of... Slytherin. They hate them because of Voldy and his merry band of murderers.”

Remus wandered over to the entrance of the chamber and peered through curiously. He took a long look at the smooth stone leading down, and without hesitation swung himself through the arch and slid down. He didn’t look back.

The six that remained stared at where he had just disappeared to in stunned silence.

“Gotta hand it to him,” Ron muttered, “Wolfe’s a bloody legend.”

Peter nodded wordlessly. What a man.

A twin turned to the other. “Your turn, George.”

“No,” George said, and pushed Fred down the slide with a wicked grin. Fred slid down, the last thing the group saw was his middle finger.

“Your turn,” Ron said to George.

“No,” George said, and yanked Ron’s shirt before he tossed him right down the slide after Fred. Ron slid down on his chest, yelling.

“George!” Hermione gasped, “that’s awful — _hey_!”

George pushed Hermione down the slide, she shrieked the whole way down.

Harry met George’s eyes and ran to the slide to slide down himself.

Peter and George met eyes. Peter made a run for it to the slide and narrowly dodged a teasing hand and slid down, luckily, the right way up.

The bottom of the slide smelled like mildew. It was cold and dank, and dark stone walls covered the place in pitch darkness. The occasional charmed torch lit up the walls. Peter jumped up to dodge George’s feet.

Remus’ wand lit up the chamber.

“Well played,” Fred muttered. “Well played.”

“George!” Hermione hissed, “that was dangerous.”

George snorted and walked forward to stand at Fred’s side. The two of them were looking around with rapt curiosity. George stood silently with his bag over his shoulder, his eyes flickered around to note the bones and the water splashed across the ground.

Peter brushed off his backside, not that it was too dusty. It appeared that most of the dust had already been cleared off by the time he came down. As Remus approached them, Peter’s eyes darted to his butt, and sighed to himself when he noticed that dust wasn’t in sight.

Maybe that was because dust didn’t come from outside or... something? The air was very still. Well, either way, the slide hadn’t been dusty. The twins, himself and Remus met up with the golden trio. 

Hermione was looking over the place. She craned her neck to get a better look at statues, and twisted in place to try and identify what kind of animal bones littered the floor. “Wow Harry! This place must have been untouched for centuries!”

“We didn’t exactly get to explore last time,” Harry commented absently. “But yeah.” He was keeping his distance from a skeleton that looked very human. Peter stared at the hole in the skull of the human, and tried to guess where it came from. It looked very oval, but it can’t have been a bullet. It was likely to be a puncture wound from a basilisk fang, but he’d always pictured them as vaguely triangular in his mind. Eh, it was probably a fang. Hopefully. 

Well, not ‘hopefully,’ but — yeah you know what, human skull, he didn’t want to think about it.

“Hey!” Ron pointed to a spot in the distance littered with gravel, “I remember that place! Let’s not go there, it reminds me of Lockhart.”

Fred eyed the spot cautiously, before turning to face Harry. “Did you find Ginny somewhere near here?”

“Nope,” Harry replied. “Up ahead, but I don’t want to go there if we don’t have to.”

Remus rubbed his temples. “No one is going to explain what happened last year to me, are they?” 

George and Fred shared sympathetic looks with him. Peter, who probably should have joined in even if to just hold some semblance of a doubt that he knew everything (which he shouldn’t) didnt bother to join in. He’d told them he was a seer, so, well, he could mooch off that.

“No?” Remus sighed and took a step forward into a musty passageway. It was large and ominous looking, with damp walls and decorative patterns carved into the ceiling. “Fine but we’re going this way. If there’s any books here at all, they’re down here.”

Hermione eyed him. “How’d you figure that Wolfe?”

He pointed up. “There’s a few ancient rune symbols for ‘library,’ ‘book’ and similar words in the ceiling. Look there — between the snake and the cycad.”

“Oh I see!” Hermione looked at him with admiration, “nice spot! That one,” she turned to Ron and Harry to helpfully point it out, “means ‘knowledge.’” Her finger pointed at an odd looking symbol partially hidden behind a snake carving.

Harry nodded but Peter, who was standing directly behind him, could see that he couldn’t find it. 

Hermione started off to walk down the passageway, but Ron’s voice quickly interrupted her before she could take more than five steps.

“Wait! We’re not going down there! I want to find the snake!”

“So do we,” Fred added on. “If we wanted to visit a library, we’d go to the library.”

Harry sighed, but appeared to agree with Ron’s sentiment.

“Fine.” Hermione didn't look surprised. “We’ll find you later. And don’t leave us too far behind! Peter, are you going to come with us?”

Snake or books, magic mythical snake or books? Was that even a question? 

“I can tell by your expression that you’ll stay behind. Well, alright. Wolfe, let’s go. No need to worry about opening any doors, Wolfe, I remember the hiss that Harry used for the tap.”

They set off. The five boys remaining looked at each other. Fred grinned and gestured for Harry to lead the way, to which he replied with a tired look. He started walking in a direction anyway. Peter reached into his pocket and drew out his wand to light up the chamber with a Lumos. It took a few tries.

“You know,” Ron said, “Wolfe really does look a lot like Lupin. You think they’re related?”

Fred shook his head, “I still reckon Wolfe had a bit of trouble with poly juice in the past.”

Peter gave him a side eye. “What?”

“Only joking, mate.”

Ron leaned back from his position up ahead to look Peter in the eyes, “do you know if they are? I’ve asked Wolfe before but he never admits to anything. Harry asked Lupin about it but apparently he’s just as confused as we are. If anyone knew, you would.”

The most annoying thing about the golden trio, Peter reflected, was that they did their research. The marauders were never this bad, were they? The marauders had always been ‘attack first, ask questions later’ or ‘do first, ask later.’ Exhibit A: Remus trying to save him from the weird portal thing, only to be sucked in himself. And then, you know, blaming him for the next whoever knows how long.

They didn’t question things. Most of the time. Meanwhile, the golden trio did. All of the time.

“He’s... just like that.”

Harry crossed his arms, “if you say so.”

“I’m saying so,” he bullshitted with ease. “So is the snake up ahead then?”

Rocky subject changing, but he was doing his best.

“Up here,” Harry wisely didn’t comment on it, “I just need to poke my wand at one of the snake carvings and say ‘open’ and it’ll be there. What do you want from it anyway?”

“The snake? I just want to see it.” And steal its skin and teeth and make millions.

They walked through a pile of bones to a large gate covered in statues of snakes. It was circular and thick, and the sight of it gave Peter shivers. There wasn’t anything massively magical about it, at first appearance, but even so it just gave off the impression of importance.

“Alright. And — huh? Where’s my wand?”

Fred, Peter and Ron startled. George gave Harry a look. “What?” Ron asked, “what do you mean ‘where’s your wand,’ you didn’t leave it behind did you?” 

“No!” Harry hissed at him, “I didn’t leave it behind! I take it with me everywhere.”

Peter frowned, “it didn’t fall out of your pocket did it?”

“I’m sure I would have noticed that. It would have made a noise.”

Ron looked over Harry, who was frantically checking his pockets. “I’m sure you just left it behind mate. Here, use mine.”

“But I swear I had it on me.”

“Maybe you put it back, back when we went up to the dorm to put our books back?”

Harry looked unconvinced, but after a few seconds of hesitation, shrugged. “I guess so. Thanks, Ron,” he said after Ron passed over his wand. He walked closer to the circular door, and after a short hiss and a tap, it twisted open to reveal a large damp chamber. He passed the wand back to Ron.

The chamber was absolutely drenched with water. Statues lined the walls, as well as intricate designs, but what drew all of their eyes was the massive dead basilisk laying across the floor. Congealed blood covered its mouth, while it’s scales were eerily shimmering as if it were still alive.

“Wicked!” Fred exclaimed, and rushed over to inspect it. Harry kept his distance beside Ron, who looked equally as excited as he was freaked out by it. “C’mon George!”

George didn’t follow. Peter curiously looked over at him, only to feel his blood freeze at the look on his face. It wasn’t excited, as he would have expected, instead it looked angry. George looked _angry_. Furious even. That didn’t make sense — Peter stared, eyes wide, at the sight of it.

“George?” Peter drew out carefully, “you all good?” Was the look perhaps there because of Ginny? Ginny had, after all, been affected by the basilisk in the past. Not that George would have known that Ginny was found around here. It would make sense, but also not at the same time — the twins knew that it was Tom Riddle and his diary that really attacked Ginny. Probably? Did they?

This wasn’t protective anger, though. “You killed her,” George hissed at Harry.

“What?” Harry turned around to look at George in surprise, “well — yeah, ‘she’ was trying to kill me. We told you she was dead, didn’t we?”

“I didn’t believe you.” 

Fred was looking at George with the utmost flabbergasted look on his face. “What’s up mate?” He asked, “something wrong? You know it’s better that it’s not alive, right?”

George whipped a wand out of his pocket. Peter and Harry took a step back, and Ron took one look at his angry body language and made a frightened ‘eep’ noise. “Bloody hell!” He called out, “what’s wrong with you?”

When George moved his wand to point at Harry’s forehead, his arm shifted the weak clasp of his bag and Peter noticed something shiny inside. This was, Peter reflected with fair disconnection, not good.

“Woah!” Fred gaped, “put the wand down, George. You’re joking, right?”

“I don’t know how,” George hissed, ignoring Fred, “you killed her. I don’t care either. You will die tonight, Harry.” 

Peter felt his breath come out in hard pants, and his eyes flickered around madly, trying to make sense of what was happening. He didn’t know the twins well beyond from what he’d read in the book series all those years ago, but he knew enough to tell that George wasn’t secretly evil. At least, he didn’t think so.

And if not evil, not prone to sticking wands at his friends. Least of all Harry. Hell, Harry was loved by the twins — _hell_ , they rescued him from an abusive situation with a flying car once. This, with George poking his wand at Harry’s head in the chamber of secrets without so much as a ‘how do you do,’ didn't fit what he knew of him at _all_.

Harry’s eyes were wide. Fred stared at the wand disbelievingly, chuckling awkwardly as if waiting for the punch line. 

“George!” Ron called out angrily. “Put down the wand! _Merlin_. This isn’t funny.”

George didn’t, his eyes stayed fiercely at Harry’s forehead. “I wonder how you got that scar. According to the boy, you were attacked as a child. How did you survive?”

Peter couldn’t move. He was frozen in shock, feet in place. This, he internally told himself, hadn’t happened originally. This was out of place. This was an anomaly — just like Remus and Peter. Perhaps it was happening because the new world they found in wasn’t the canon one after all. Or, and this was what Peter suspected, Remus and Peter had made a change that resulted in this.

One they hadn’t seen coming. One, by the looks of things, that no one else had seen coming either.

Fred and Ron stepped away from the carcass, Ron in mild horror, and Fred in concern. “George,” Fred called out weakly, “you didn’t eat something off did you?”

The wand flickered over to Fred, and in the blink of an eye, a thick black spell wordlessly sailed out of the wand and hit Fred directly in the chest. He fell to the ground loosely. A hard, heavy thump echoed around the chamber. George had hit Fred with a dark spell. Peter’s breathing quickened even more.

Harry ran over to him, head tilted to keep Geoge’s wand in sight. “Fred!”

Ron eyed George with betrayal, before rushing over to Fred himself. “What did you do?!”

Peter knew that he should do something. That he should perhaps run over and yank the wand out of George’s fist, or hit him with a handy dandy Expelliarmus and demand answers. 

His eyes were drawn to George’s bag. It had been in the back of his mind for a while. The fact that it was there so starkly in the first place indicated that there was a gut feeling within him. The gut feeling told him that whatever was wrong, was within the bag. 

George’s face was eerily blank. Composed, even. 

“He’s not moving!” Ron freaked out, shaking Fred’s shoulders. “What did you do? Fred? Fred!”

Butterfly effect. Peter knew about it, of course. But weren’t there supposed to be bigger signs before something like this? What about catching George shoot Fred a poisonous glare? What about catching him in a lie? What about... anything? Usually there was a build up to things like this. 

But Fred was on the floor, George was pointing a wand at Ron, Harry was freaking out, and Peter was standing behind it all, looking onwards as if it was a cinema. He felt disconnected — not at ease, not even close — just separated. He hadn’t prepared for something like this to happen. Thoughts flickered through his mind like bullets. Most of them were shouts, exclamations, or cries for help. 

“What did you do?” Harry pressed furiously.

“I don’t get it,” Ron muttered to himself, “I don’t get it, what happened? Why is he...?”

His feet couldn’t move. They felt like concrete. Heavy, obnoxious. He had, in the end, always had some sort of warning for things like this. Like with Lily, even. He had expected from the beginning to let her go, so when he did, it wasn’t surprising. He’d knew there was a risk in befriending her, and that things might potentially end badly. They did. 

Or, when they came here. He knew what was going to happen, or he thought he did anyway. What he changed he changed of his own free will. He analysed things, guessed at implications, and moved forward with ease. But for this, he hadn’t seen any signs. It was unnatural and unlikely. George stood with grace he’d never formally possessed. Peter’s head chanted ‘danger, danger, danger.’ But what was the danger? And why? George was George, just a boy with a passionate flair for jokes and the dramatics.

“Bombarda.” The spell shot out of George’s wand, but Harry yanked Ron to the side so that it hit the cold damp concrete. A large crack formed. 

“Oi... _Oi_!” Ron gained his breath back and stood to his full height. He protectively stood before Fred and started to dig into his robes to withdraw his own wand, “I don’t know what the bloody hell has gone into you, you wanker, but —“

He was hit with red light. Peter’s feet weren’t moving. Ron crumpled to the floor and screamed, and suddenly, things didn’t feel real. Before, it was like looking through a cinema. But when Ron started to scream, it felt like viewing something through the fog of dreams. And it didn’t stop a few seconds later. Every moment felt slow, lethargic. Harry watched in horror and Peter watched in equal revulsion. Harry let out a cry of anguish, lost in Ron’s shouts, and dug into Fred’s robes for a wand but came up empty.

Peter couldn’t move. He couldn’t _move_. Everything was lead, George didn’t face him, and he wanted to run. This was his opportunity. Run, save himself. That was what he was meant to do, right? That was what he was good at?   
  
  


Peter wanted to turn on his heel. Run, all the way to the slide and climb his way up. He wanted to close his eyes to all of it. To the screaming, to Fred’s eerily unconscious body. But his stomach seemed to cave in on himself, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to run away. And then, as if his resolution was a switch to a light, the spell stopped. Harry’s hands were empty, but George had lowered his wand. Ron was very nearly unconscious. His eyes were still open, and flicked between everyone as if in a daze. 

Peter hadn’t taken his opportunity to run away. But everything still felt heavy. Harry, across the room, was frantic. Harry fumed. He was infuriated. “Ron! Ron, give me your wand.” He rose to his feet and stood before both Fred and Ron. With a quivering limb, Ron awkwardly reached out his wand, and Harry was just about to snatch it up when Peter noticed George’s fingers twitch tellingly, and suddenly he was on his feet and running. Towards the danger.

Peter liked self preservation. He liked to look after himself. Other people? Didn't care. 

This spoke against that. This, he reflected as he felt his body collide with George’s, was _stupid_. Dumb. Reckless. Gryffindor. The two of them hit the ground, and something clunked out of George’s bag. Peter’s eyes flickered to catch the sight of a delicate, bejewelled tiara that rolled across the concrete floor. 

Diadem. Bingo. _Bingo_?

That was _Ravenclaw’s_ diadem. That didn’t make sense! That didn’t make _any_ — he was shoved aside by strong hands, and he rolled a few paces on cold concrete. George rose to his feet and pointed the wand at Peter’s face with unrivalled fury. Deep, animalistic, threatening. Before he could organise himself enough to actually shoot something, the wand was tugged into the air and into Harry’s waiting outstretched palm.

George was barely subdued. He withdrew a second wand from his robes — Harry’s, he identified vaguely — and immediately started to duel Harry. It was filled with a lot of jumping and squirming on Harry’s end, but it did give Peter enough time to wiggle over to the diadem and look over it.

Yeah, he was right, that was Ravenclaw’s. Which meant that George had been in the possession of a horcrux. He had no bloody idea how though. It had been in the room of requirement, and Remus and himself had kept it secret well enough. He wasn’t dumb enough to touch it, but his presence seemed to do something to it.

It didn’t writhe, exactly, but it did shake. Peter scooted back on the floor and scrambled to his feet, eyes wide and focused on the diadem. His eyes flicked to George, who was shooting spell after spell at Harry (who was running around and shooting the occasional spell back), to land on Fred, and Ron, who looked as if he’d just ran for several kilometres without breathing.

Peter knew what to do. For once. He made a beeline for the fallen snake and stuck his hand in to reach one of the fangs. It was long and disgusting, and he made sure to keep his arm away from any of the sharp venomous points. He ripped one out.

He let out an embarrassing noise as a bright light blasted in his direction, yet he narrowly avoided it. He hasted on to the diadem.

He, to put it bluntly, had no fucking clue what was going on. But he did guess that it had something to do with the horcrux sitting on the floor of the chamber of secrets. It had, somehow, gotten into contact with George. And then it had corrupted him in some way, right? It wasn’t like George, in the books, was actually this malicious. It made sense for the horcrux to be the thing at fault.

Peter ignored the screaming of spells behind him and zeroed in on the horcrux. “Alright. Time to go. Yeah. I’m just gonna... I’m just gonna stab you.”

“Peter, hurry up!”

He turned around in surprise. Ron had somehow made out that the diadem was the thing to blame or destroy. He didn’t know how, but perhaps Peter and his ‘seer abilities’ had proven useful once more. Ron mustn’t have missed his animosity towards the thing. Peter doubted that Ron would have guessed that George was genuinely this awful — he must have been looking for an explanation as avidly as he had.

Or, you know, Ron wanted Peter to help Harry. Actually yeah that made more sense.

Unfortunately, the shout drew George’s attention.

Harry caught Peter’s eye just as George turned to face Peter. Harry’s eyes then flickered back to George with understanding, “Oh no you don’t!”

George’s gaze was furious. Tired of playing around, he wandlessly summoned Harry’s wand, which parked itself into his free hand. Which, well, shit.

Peter, pants at spells, ran for it. He dropped the fang in his hurry. Peter edged away from the diadem — he was a coward, and besides, angry possessed George, of course he was going to ditch the diadem — and hiked it back towards where they came in. His wand pointed at George as his wand was pointed at Peter. In his hand, Peter’s wand was as good as a stick, but he hoped it looked somewhat threatening anyway. They stared at each other, only to have George’s attention ripped away when Harry bounded forward and punched him in the face.

“Peter?”

Hermione! 

Hermione peeked out of the entrance of the chamber. “I heard shouting. What’s — Harry!” Her wand practically flew into her palm, and seconds later George was flying backwards into the air and slammed against the floor. It was a very heavy thud, and Peter swallowed. 

Never underestimate witches. Peter stared at George. Harry looked over and his shoulders slumped in relief. “ _Hermione_!”

“What’s going on?” 

Harry didn’t answer immediately. He ran over to George and yanked the wands out of his grip. He found three. “It was George,” Harry said disbelievingly. “He just went mad! He — he shot a curse at Fred and he’s over there, he still hasn’t gotten up. Ron got shot by something too.”

“It’s the diadem,” Peter hurriedly adds on. “I think it got to him somehow.” 

“What?” Hermione shrieked. She rushed down to join Harry and Peter cautiously followed. Hermione looked down at George and steadily checked his chest to see if it was rising, then reached down to check his pulse. “He’s fine.” Peter was mildly horrified that she had to check in the first place. “Diadem, did you say, Peter?”

“Yeah.” He was hoping to distract them from the fact that he had nearly run away towards the end. “We’ll have to stab it with that fang on the floor over there. Where’s Remus?”

“We found a small enclave of miscellaneous items. He’s checking it out, I came over once I heard screaming — _Merlin_ , Harry! How do you always get into these situations?”

“It’s not my fault!” Harry protested, “people just have it out for me.”

Ron called out to them, and the three turned to face him. “Yeah yeah, less talking more stabbing! Hermione, come check out Fred. I can’t find his pulse!” He put up a calm front but Peter could detect his hysteria. His limbs shook as if he was in an ice-pool. His eyes were half-lidded and twitching.

“Not... no, alright I’m coming over. Peter you stab that thing.” Hermione ran over and Peter stayed in place to watch her. Peter walked over to the discarded fang and picked it up carefully. He anxiously fidgeted with the base of the fang. 

There was a few seconds of silence while Hermione checked Fred’s wrist. “He’s fine, you just didn’t look properly. Goodness Ron, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Well s-sorry if I was a little distracted!” Hermione turned her attention to Ron in worry.

Peter turned away from them and faced the diadem.

What were the chances he could foist this off onto Harry?

  
  


..

  
  
  


He wandered close to it. Harry stood nearby as he raised the fang. Peter really hoped that the horcrux was brittle, because his muscles weren’t shit. It was as he raised it high that a devilish sort of cloud billowed from the gaps around the jewels.

It rose high, and Peter took a terrified step back when he found himself face-to-face with an average-looking young girl.

She didn’t have anything worthy of note in her appearance. She had a small stubby nose, bushy eyebrows, a thin mouth and brown wispy hair. He’d seen her hundreds of times before, but never like this. Her chin was raised high with the illusion of confidence. 

Mary stood above the diadem. She twirled in a pretty dress and smiled sweetly. She was small. Delicate, even. Twelve years old.

“You want to be like me,” her voice broke the awkward quiet that had settled over the chamber as everyone turned to stare at the apparition.

“One of your deepest wishes; is it true? Do you really? That’s funny, I think — I don’t want to be me. In fact, I’ve tried my entire life to not be me.” She smiled and put on a demure expression, “you’re a liar,” she took up a more stiff posture, “and especially to yourself.”

  
Peter’s arms shook.

Stab it.

_Stab it,_ get it over with. 

Stab it, stab it, **stab it.** Do it, you fucking pussy. _You fucking coward_! 

“You hate me, Peter, you know you do. Just like how you hated mum, and how you hated dad, and how you hate everyone else here!“

He didn’t. He didn’t hate everyone. He was just, he — he didn’t... he didn’t!

Mary smiled when he remained silent. “Why do you look so uncomfortable?”

“Shut up,” Peter whispered. He took a deep breath and readied the fang. He raised it with a shaking hand and pretended that Mary was just some average person trying to get a rise out of him.

“I know why you’re like that. You don’t want anyone knowing about me.”

“Shut up!” The fang quivered in the air, hesitant. 

Mary’s voice lowered to a whisper that only he could hear. “Why do you look so regretful? It’s not like falling down that well was an _accident_ —“

The fang pierced the crown with frightening ease, and Peter dry heaved. Dirty black fog whipped around the room. A terrifying scream-like sound echoed through the chamber, and Peter sunk backwards. Tears filled his eyes.

“Shit. _Shit_...!” His fists clenched and he looked away from the last dregs of mist fading in the air.

And then — all too suddenly, all too terrifyingly —

The chamber was silent once more.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“Peter... are you okay?” 

Hermione crept close to him and put a cautious hand on his shoulder. Peter stared at his fists and wiped at the tears from his eyes with his wrists, but they kept coming. “Shit,” he muttered to himself, “shit!”

“Who was that girl?” She asked. “What was that? What was she talking about?”

Peter clenched his fists tighter, steadfastly ignoring her. “We should go find Wolfe,” he said sternly.

“Peter,” she pressed.

“It’s none of your business!”

Ron glared at Peter and yelled over to them. “Don’t talk to Hermione like that!”

“She should butt out of things that don’t concern her!” That’s what Peter did! He kept out, did what he could for himself, and that was it. And look what happened whenever he tried to help other people, huh? _Look_. He was naive to take charge of these sort of things! Harry could have done it as easily as himself, if not _more_ easily. He had been standing right there!

Idiot. _Idiot_!

“She’s only trying to help!”

“How is being nosy helping?” 

Harry looked between all of them like it was a ping-pong match.

Peter let out a strangled breath and started to make his way to the entrance of the chamber. 

“Where are you going?” Harry asked.

“Finding Wolfe. We’ll need help getting Fred, George and Ron out of here. I don’t want to stick around.” He choked out the words and immediately rushed away. Hermione might have called out for him but he only walked faster.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“Remus!” Peter sprinted through the dark chamber, his neck snapped around and eventually he found the hallway he and Hermione had gone through earlier. He ran through it and came to a halt when he couldn’t see anything.

“ _Remus_!”

“What? Peter? You know you shouldn’t say my name out here.” Right. ‘Wolfe.’

Peter didn’t answer, instead he ran towards the voice and found Remus sitting among a few books, a pair of odd-looking gloves, a few candlesticks and a decaying lantern. He threw himself towards Remus and grabbed a hold of him to draw him into a hug.

“What’re you — what’s wrong? What’s going on?” Remus’ hands came up to grab a hold of his shoulders. Peter was lightly pulled back. He stared at Remus anxiously, doing his best to fight back tears. He knew his display of affection was out of place, but he really, _really_ needed something to hold on to.

His world felt misaligned, and Remus was a constant. He was thankful that Remus wasn’t shoving him off. Instead he held him nearby. 

“It’s... George. A horcrux, it, it possessed him or something. Fred and George are unconscious and Ron’s hurt.” Remus’ eyes widened.

“What’s a horcrux — no, nevermind, let’s go. Quickly!”

Remus stood to his feet. He absently shoved something in his pocket. Gentle fingers lightly pulled off Peter’s hands and grabbed a hold of one to tug him up to pull him along on the way to where the others were. A few steps of running along and he seemed to realise what he was doing, and immediately let go. Peter was shaking all over.

Damnit! He was meant to be stronger than this! He needed to calm down, but things just kept _happening_! 

Remus was far ahead of him, due to being more athletic and not having already just run across the chamber already. Peter jogged behind him, and when Remus eventually stopped up ahead, they caught the sight of Harry panicking and everyone around him unconscious on the floor.

“What happened?” Peter asked. 

“Hermione went to pick up the fang you put down and accidentally pricked herself! Ron fainted soon after you left.”

Oh. “Fuck!” Were the golden trio just forever accident prone? Was that a thing? Either way, they needed help, and fast.

Harry noticed that Remus had joined them, and stumbled up to his feet. “I’m going to get Dumbledore, you two stay here!”

Harry didn’t leave them any time to respond. He immediately ran out of the chamber, wand in clenched hand, leaving the four unconscious people in the room to them.

Remus made a beeline towards Hermione, the closest person to them, and checked her pulse. “How did this even...?”

“I’m pretty sure George was possessed by the horcrux — the diadem — over there. I stabbed it before I went to you. Fred got a dark curse to the chest, and Ron... he was under the cruciatus curse for a while. A long while. He stayed conscious for a bit after, which really surprised me. Looks like he’s out now, though.”

“ _Merlin_.” Remus jogged over to check on Hermione who was the closest. He checked her breathing, and Peter decided to follow his lead. Remus was quick and swiftly moved to George just as Peter decided who to go to.

Peter looked over all of them, and decided to go over to check on Fred, who looked as still as when he had first fallen down. His hand went over Fred’s chest, and he stilled when he couldn’t detect any signs of breathing. He leaned over his face with his ear to his mouth and watched Fred’s chest. It didn’t rise or fall. _Fuck_.

“Remus! Fred’s not breathing. I’ll have to start CPR.” He knows CPR, but he’d only practiced on dummies before! And that was when he was a she — you know, Mary and all that and whatever, holy fuck he has to do CPR because someone’s not breathing and as a first responder who knows CPR he has some measure of responsibility.

Fuck, what’s the first step? Ask for consent? No, that’s for when the person’s conscious. You can’t ask for consent to CPR from a dead person! That’s when it’s implied. Australian law says that you should just go ahead in those cases, but —

“Peter, there’s a spell for that. I checked the others, they’re breathing. Back away, I’ll do it now.” Oh thank fuck. He stepped back and made his way to Ron. He felt his chest and checked his breathing — all good — and settled back. He steadfastly looked away when he heard the sound of compressions and then sudden gasps of air. 

Fred didn’t wake up, but Peter could tell by the steady rise and fall of his chest that he was at least breathing again. “Good job Remus. They should all be okay now, right?” Not that he cared or anything.

“I don’t know, but perhaps. Except for the fact that Hermione is... well, you know. It’s been minutes but Basilisk venom is incredibly potent. But —“

Pretty, trilling notes suddenly hit his ears, as if on cue. 

“Ah.”

Peter looked up to catch Fawkes fly in to perch directly over Hermione. “She’ll be fine,” Peter commented with relief. As the Phoenix started to cry over her hand, Harry ran in with Dumbledore waddling behind him as if he had all the time in the world.

Harry, Peter noted absently, was fast. Probably due to the jock genes. Dumbledore was acting way to casually for someone whose student was minutes if not seconds away from dying. Harry immediately ran to join Fawkes at Hermione’s side.

“You!” Peter, stressed out of his mind, zoned in on Dumbledore. His relaxed demeanour was pissing him off. “Why didn’t you come earlier?”

Remus turned to catch his eyes, “Peter —“

“Alas, I did not know where to find you.”

“Last time you found Harry just fine! Or at least your homing pigeon did.” Sorry Fawkes.

“I was not to know of your location,” he insisted. 

Remus grasped his shoulder harshly. “Peter, let it go.” Peter tore his shoulder away and glared at the two of them. 

“Fine, but you should have come earlier! Hermione, Ron, George and Fred — you know what, I don’t care! Do what you want.” He stormed away to join Harry, and Remus intercepted Dumbledore and started to converse with him in low tones.

Misplaced his anger might be, but Dumbledore was the headmaster. Even if Peter was the one to decide to come down in the first place, he should have... he should have done something! Peter wasn’t supposed to deal with these sort of things! Things were meant to be easy, to be smooth. School wasn’t a place where bad things happened.

It was supposed to be safe, secure. Things like that diadem — they were meant to be planned against. Looked over. Surveyed and made safe. And yeah, he didn’t know how George came to gain possession of it. Neither, likely, would Dumbledore. But the thing was, it wasn’t Peter’s job to know those things. It was Dumbledore’s.

Peter wasn’t supposed to be some sort of weary, wise student. Hogwarts, hell, any school, was meant to be... not like this. 

“She’s not waking up,” Harry said when Peter crouched down next to him and Hermione. Behind them, Dumbledore used a spell to suspend Fred and Ron safely in the air.

“It’s like Wolfe said,” Peter nearly slipped up and called him Remus, “she was poisoned for a long time and basilisk venom is strong.”

“Fawkes should have helped.” 

Peter inclined his head. He didn’t know how to say ‘well yes but the venom must’ve fucked up her internal organs’ nicely and smoothly to a distressed thirteen year old. “It might take a while for her to wake up,” he settled with. Fawkes stopped crying and flew away to land on Dumbledore’s shoulder.

Dumbledore called out to them. “We will go to the infirmary. Off we go!”

Malignant non-comforting motherfucker. Peter scoffed and rose to his feet as Hermione was lifted into the air. Her long curly hair draped down like a curtain.

Harry anxiously watched as George carefully floated up at the point of Dumbledore’s wand. “Will they be alright, professor?” 

Peter clocked out of the conversation and slinked off to pick up the shattered diadem. He turned it over a few times in his hands.

(“Why do you look so regretful?”)

“Peter.”

Remus stood to his side. Peter turned to him with a lost expression.

“They’ll be okay,” Remus said.

Peter rubbed his nose and focused back on the diadem. “It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

“You can’t predict everything.”

His shoulders raised to cradle his head. “I was meant to!” 

Remus sighed and tugged at his shoulder briefly to make him follow behind Harry, Dumbledore and the floating bodies as they walked to the exit of the chamber. “Whatever, mate.”

Peter clenched the shattered diadem in white fists, and a sliver of blood pooled down his fingers. He paid it no mind. He followed behind the rest with a heavy conscience, unsure with why he seemed to care so much.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @YouMakeTheSunSmile and @mariposa4 for beta-ing this work!   
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariposa4  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouMakeTheSunSmile/profile
> 
> The interlude last chapter was very short, so I hope this makes up for it somewhat. Comment and kudos if you’d like to.


	12. Token in a Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A relaxed conversation, a bit of peace, and Hermione being her loveable self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This title isn’t too bad lol. It’s another update! Might be a few mistakes, if you see any please point them out. Beta’d (-:

“It’s come to a point where the situations I get myself into aren’t even funny anymore. They’re just sad.”

“They’ve never been funny, mate.”

Peter rolled up on his four-poster bed, leaning on his elbows with the most stricken look on his face. “No? Not at all? When we first came here, remember when I had so much dirt on me I looked like I bathed in it?”

“Can’t say I do. You’re in an odd mood.”

Peter scrunched up his lips and eyebrows, thinking it over. “Maybe?”

The dorm room eased back into companionable silence. Sometimes, when Peter concentrated enough, he could almost hear James and Sirius’ quips. Maybe even a joking comment from Lily. Of course, they weren’t actually there, and it was odd to think but he kind of missed it. Before he had really hated it, but perhaps there was truth to the statement ‘you never know what you have until it’s gone.’

It was, Peter thought absently, the same feeling you get when you miss the sound of crickets late at night. Yeah, crickets were annoying, but they also marked that where he was, was home. He remembers that when he was Mary, some times of year got so loud with crickets that you’d’ve thought an entire beach of them was just outside your bedroom window.

“Oh. Peter, I forgot to mention. I visited Hermione in the hospital wing yesterday, and she says that she wants to know about the diadem.”

Hermione, Ron and the twins had been in the hospital wing for just three days. Hermione got off lightly — could you say that? Eh — with just a bit of organ damage which Poppy guaranteed she could fix easily enough. It’s always handy to have a Phoenix on hand. 

She woke up the day before, and true to character, was buried in books trying to understand what happened. Whether that be legends of old buildings and curses, or snake properties, or old enchanted objects. Yesterday Peter had walked in, taken one look at Hermione’s face, eager and determined, and walked straight back out with nothing but a “good to see that you’re awake!” She was relentless. He left behind a box of chocolates.

Ron hadn’t been awake since being in the chamber. Occasionally he was overcome with muscle spasms, and when Peter had visited two days prior with Harry and Remus, Harry had been incredibly worried. Harry, over the last three days, was practically glued to the hospital wing. He’d skipped classes to stay there, but Dumbledore didn’t seem to mind that. At least the man was alright for that much.

Fred and George were still out of it. Fred had been hit with very dark magic; no one really knew what the dark spell that hit him did, but as a result of it, Fred was unconscious and sometimes his breathing stopped out of the blue. Thankfully Poppy had monitoring charms for that sort of thing. Peter really hoped he’d wake soon. As well as George, even if when he stood nearby him in the hospital wing he felt a bit queasy.

He knew that it wasn’t George’s fault for what happened. ‘Course not. But still, sometimes he’d look at his face — even Fred’s, since they were identical — and just feel a spike of misplaced adrenaline. 

“Tell her it doesn’t matter.” 

“She’s halfway to crawling out the hospital bed to demand answers. She’s not going to let it go, and neither will I.” Remus sighed, stepped out of his bed and walked over to Peter. He sat down on the edge of his bed and leaned forward to cradle his head with his hands. Peter sat up and stared at him blankly. Sometimes, Remus did indeed come to sit with him, but it still felt a bit weird. Not a bad kind of weird, but one of the kinds of weird nonetheless.

“Well,” Peter frowned, and frowned even harder when Remus made eye-contact. “Alright, I guess.”

“That’s it?”

“Like hell I’m telling Hermione, but I’ll tell you.” Now that things have changed so much, he wants Remus to go back more than ever. At least in the other world Remus didn’t come by any harm. Well, mental harm perhaps, but physically he was kind of okay. “As long as you tell me what you nicked from the chamber.”

Actually, chances were that Hermione would figure out something by herself. She was a good hand at research. He’d probably walk in and she’d be like ‘this is what’s up’ and honestly he’s kind of freaked out by that. Does he want to tell her? No, of course not. But he might end up telling her something anyway. How? Well, he didn’t know, but he did know that he didn’t want to sit down with her to find out how much she knew.

That girl was up to no good. What were the chances that even one of those books implicated him in some manner? And if they did, he… probably would end up telling her about something. But not everything. No matter what, not everything. If she needed an explanation, she was going to get the briefest bullshit at the bottom of the barrel. Remus, though, he deserved a full fleshed out response. And if Peter had to tell him everything, then so be it. It might get rid of the sickness in his stomach that still had yet to fade from the other day.

Remus’ face blanked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a good liar,” Peter said, equally blankly, “but I saw you shove something in your pocket. You should know that if you keep something from someone they’ll only show more interest.”

“Like Hermione?”

Peter delicately coughed into his hand. “Shut up, loser.”

Remus grinned, “loser? That’s a good one.”

“Shut up! C’mon, show me what you stole.”

Peter stared at him challengingly, but the stare he received in return made Peter back up with a wiry grin and hold his hands in front of his face teasingly. “Come on!” He pressed, “I told you, I’ll tell you whatever you want as long as you show me what you stole.”

“‘Took,’” Remus said. He got up and walked over to his bed, crouched, then rifled underneath it. “I didn’t steal them, because nobody owned them.” He retrieved a small bundle of cloth from beside a discarded shoe.

“‘Them’?”

“Here.” Remus sat beside Peter and threw a pair of gloves at Peter’s face. They hit him harshly, and Peter spluttered in distaste. He held them up. They were large and grey. They also looked like they were made of some unknown scaley material, but other than that they didn’t look too interesting. Peter stared at them, and fidgeted with the seams. They were very old, yet very sturdy.

They weren’t fraying at all, in fact, they looked brand new. 

“I don’t know what they do,” Remus said, “but I thought I could detect spells woven into them so I picked them up. I would’ve grabbed more, but we were in a hurry.”

Peter didn’t even glance up. Transfixed on the gloves, he separated the left glove from the pair and deftly put it on.

“Idiot!”

Peter jumped and looked up at Remus, who was staring at the glove on his hand with disbelief. “Peter, for Merlin’s sake, I don’t know what they do! Take it off!”

Peter frowned. “You gotta risk these kinds of things.” It made things quicker.

“Take it off!” Remus leaned forward to wrestle the glove off his hand, and he managed to yank it off after a few seconds of struggling. Peter stared at the glove mournfully, and pouted with more gusto when the other glove was taken from his lap. “See? This is why I didn’t tell you!”

“It didn’t do anything to me, though,” Peter remarked. 

“But it could have! What kind of fucking idiot just puts something on their hands without knowing what it is or what it does?”

In his defence, he did his very best to not laugh. But he thought of Dumbledore, and then he saw Remus’ face — it was a very interesting look that he had on — and just lost it.

“Peter!”

Peter held in his giggles for just five seconds before he started to laugh again, and Remus, to his amazement, joined in. Once Peter noticed that he wasn’t the only one laughing, he eased to a stop and watched with slight awe as Remus eventually, too, came to a stop. 

It was pretty stupid, you know, but Peter felt a bit — uh — off. Maybe. Peter fidgeted with his pyjama shorts and steadily looked away towards the bathroom door.

Remus leaned forward, and the top of the bed sloped. “Well, there you go. Now you said that I could ask whatever I wanted.”

He had a very ominous feeling brewing in his stomach. That, mixed with the last traces of surprise, made a very odd combination within him. 

“I guess.”

“Well, first, what happened in the chamber?”

“There’s a ‘first?’”

Remus nudged his knee accusingly, “you owe me, Peter. I came down there for a relaxing stroll. Mind you, perhaps there was a lapse of judgement in the location, but still.”

Peter looked up at him through narrowed eyes. 

Well. Fine. Perhaps he did feel a bit queasy at the idea of sharing, but he also really wanted to. Horcruxes were just one thing on his chest, and to take them off would feel great. He should have paid more attention to them before this point. Not that he wanted to save this world from Voldemort — fuck that, he intervened enough with Sirius — but if things like this happened, then who was to say that something similar couldn’t happen? He doubted it’d be this bad though, if something else happened.

But yeah. Why not?

“I don’t know everything,” Peter starts off slowly, “so I won’t be able to go into that much detail.”

“That’s fine. Have you told Dumbledore about any of this yet, before you say anything?”

“No, Dumbledore called Harry up to his office rather than me. He was there for the whole thing too. I don’t think Dumbledore suspects I know anything more than Harry would concerning the diadem. Either that or he doesn’t care. Or he knows somehow. Or — yeah I dunno.”

“Good to know you have your thoughts in order.”

“Oh don't I always?” He mumbled sarcastically. “Anyway, so, basically, the diadem is evil.”

“Right.”

“No need to sound so skeptical.”

“That wasn’t skeptical. More questioning your phrasing.”

“What part of it?”

Remus breathed out through his nostrils. “‘Basically the diadem is evil.’ Is that it?”

“Hey! That is _so_ skeptical. Do I have to say more?”

“Yes.”

“Gah! Fine.” Peter brushed a hand through his messy hair and elbowed Remus when he chuckled at the motion. “Okay, so, you know Voldemort, right? Yeah so he split his soul a couple of times and put them in objects, and the only way you can actually kill the guy is if you stab these objects with other objects with specific criteria.”

“Right.”

Peter blankly stared at him. “That’s it?”

“ _That_ ‘right’ was skeptical.”

“Well you’ll have to trust me on this one. Anyway, continuing, that’s meant to be top secret and I don’t even know if Dumbledore knows that yet so you should keep it zipped. They’re called horcruxes. The criteria for destruction is meant to be basilisk venom or fiendfire. There might be something else or there might not, I can’t remember. We lucked out with being attacked by one in the chamber, honestly. Could’ve been a much worse location.” Imagine if Peter tried to cast fiendfire.

“Wait, stop. You’re telling me that these ‘horcruxes’ have the capability to, what, possess people? And how don't more people know about them? Does that mean that he’s not actually dead?”

“Yes, because it’s top secret we’ve been over this, and yeah he’s alive.”

There’s something off in Remus, then. Something comes back to him that Peter hadn’t noticed had really been gone in the first place. It’s something that Peter himself would never have; it’s not a particular emotion, or an outlook, or a change in stance or posture. It’s something that has changed, but there’s no word for it. 

Peter had never had some large mythical-like villain in his life. One could argue that his father counted, perhaps. Maybe even God, if he were to believe in the guy. Not anyone when he was Mary either. So he didn’t know what it’s like to have something that’s a constant threat — nothing that would threaten him with anything above a hard slap on the chest or across the face. Which his dad did. His dad, yes, was and is a bad person. He could say it.

He was _neglectful_ , Peter knew now. He was always in Peter’s head as a villain. In a hard, cold box. He was mean and rude and awful and so many other words, and even just thinking of him made his stomach curl up into knots. Peter had used to see his dislike as inevitable; Peter was a freakish child, after all. But Peter knew now, like in the way you suddenly look outside and notice that you’re so small in the universe, that in the end, the relationship between him and his dad was _neglectful_.

He _didn’t like_ his dad, and he didn’t _have_ to, and who _would_? His dad was _rude_ and _abandoning_ and _terrible_ and he hated Peter not because of who he was, but because he was _there_. Because the moment he had stood up for himself, a switch had flipped, and suddenly his authority was in doubt. His dad had to _stick up_ , had to become more _brash_ , had to whip off the sheet and show his true colours. Peter knew, when he was young all those years ago the day the sunflowers fell, that things were _shit_ and things were likely to _always be shit._

_Soulmates_? Fucking _ridiculous_. A pipe dream. His mum? Dead, killed in a house fire. Sunflowers? Destroyed. And things had looked so dark and bleak, and all he had known how to do was turn on himself. His dad’s sudden, more obnoxious distaste had just fallen into that. Because it had come out of nowhere, in a way. Because Peter had questioned why his dad was so awful, and suddenly, things had cracked and then _boom_! What would have happened, what would life be like, if Peter had just stayed silent?

_His dad was a bad person_ , and it wasn’t Peter’s fault. But what he is getting at, is that even with his dad and all his failures and lack of societal niceties, he was still something that wasn’t really _constant_. He wasn’t a constant threat hanging over his head; only when Peter was home, and even then, he wouldn’t _kill_ Peter. Nah, he wouldn’t, he was a bastard but not _that_ much of a bastard.

Peter was born into the world more mature, even if at times his body’s age came through. (Some days he felt old and some days he felt young. It was weird). Not important. Point was, he hadn’t really seen Voldemort as a _thing_ because even if he was at large in the marauder’s era, and even if letters came every now and then that spoke of a new deaths during meals at Hogwarts, nothing had ever happened to _him_. Not _yet_. And Peter was selfish at heart, so if it didn’t happen to him, then why would he care?

And who was he supposed to worry about back at his home anyway? Mum was already dead, and dad was a dick.

There was, in a way, a sheet over his eyes. It hid him from the woes of the students around him. It hid him from Voldemort. While Voldemort was a potential threat in the future, he wasn’t at the time, and Peter knew how to avoid him. So he was fine. He didn’t care about the guy. He _worried_ about him for later, but since he had a solid plan on avoiding him, he could just ignore him enough to have him slide off his radar in day to day life. Even in the library, when he overheard Slytherins talking, he hadn’t been fazed.

But Remus? _Remus_ had grown up in the time he lived in. Obviously. But he had grown up in a world where he cared enough to look around, and cared enough to pity the people around him with a full grieving heart. He cared enough to get attached. Like with Alice’s mum, he must’ve clocked in as soon as Alice started crying. Started paying his full attention. 

Because Voldemort was a _constant_ threat to him. He didn’t know the future, he didn’t know if Voldemort would all of a sudden become a threat. If suddenly one day he’d go home to find his house gone. Voldemort had been flickering around at the edges of everything. Everyone knew of Voldemort, everyone _feared_ him, it was how people were _raised_ , and they didn’t know anything better. 

Peter knew enough of the future to not fear him just yet, but Voldemort lived as some sort of cosmic Jack-in-the-box for everyone else. 

And then Remus had come here, found Voldemort gone, and probably felt the weight lift off him. Now, it was back. Remus looked like that. Like that — Peter didn’t have a word for it. But he looked like that.

“Where is he?” Remus asked.

Peter squinted and tried to think. “I don’t know.” He doesn’t know whether he should or not, either. It had been a lifetime since he last read the books. Romania, the guy could be in? In that old man’s mansion thing? Gardener-guy...? He didn’t know.

“And no-one else knows about the horcruxes?”

“Nope.”

“We’ve got to do something.”

Peter’s face twisted.

The difference between the two of them was that Remus was worryingly empathetic. He cared for people, even if they weren’t _his_ people. The other day, in the chamber, if Remus had been in his place and not Peter, he would have jumped in. Saved the day. Saved Hermione, or Ron, or Fred, or hell, George. He wouldn’t have run away at the end towards the exit. He would have charged in, shot spells, worked out that the diadem was the problem and destroyed it quicker than Peter did.

He would have taken _charge_. He would have done so many things that Peter could never do. Remus had a saving people thing. Perhaps not as much as Harry — no one on _earth_ could have a bigger saving people thing than Harry — but he had one. It was annoying.

“This isn’t our world.” Peter liked to think that he could play a voice of reason. He liked to think that _hey_ , perhaps he had a few flaws, but didn’t everyone? He got things right sometimes, right? He had stabbed that diadem in the end, hadn’t he? Even if he had wanted Harry to do it? Even when Mary had stood up to him and whispered in his ear, and he felt his stomach weigh down like it was full of coins?

“It isn’t,” Remus agreed. “But we know something that could help. And I like the people here. Not Snape so much.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten attached. It was dumb. You were always going to go back.”

Despite the words, they’re said with eerie calm. Like he’s stating that outside the weather is sunny.

“Nothing wrong with being selfish sometimes,” Remus said, and Peter looked at him with a lost expression. 

“You’re not going to get anything out of it, you know,” Peter said for lack of anything else to say. “The objects are dispersed, you know. In _dangerous_ places. You know. It’s not worth it, Harry’s gonna do it eventually anyway. And it’s not going to get you back home.”

“Us, back home,” Remus insisted. “We’re going back together. So I can sick Lily on you. Harry is too young to save the world, and from what I’ve heard, I think he’s done enough in his lifetime already. I swear, you really need to explain to me how he killed the basilisk, because _no one_ has told me.”

Peter swallowed. “I don’t want to,” he said. “Because what’s the... well, okay I get it, because you _care_ about people or whatever, but you realise, right, that if we help people here and then go back home, we’ll probably have to do it there too? That’s way too much work for me. Also I swear if you sick Lily on me I’ll never talk to you again.”

“Would that really be so bad?”

“ _Oi_.”

Remus laughed. He leaned back on the four-poster bed and stared above him. Determination seeped out of his dimples. Oh. Remus had dimples. He hadn’t realised that. Peter fidgeted and looked forwards at Remus’ bed.

“I’ll help a bit,” Peter eventually sighed. “Don’t expect me to join in too much other than that though. This is _your_ suicidal mission, _not_ mine. I’ll give the info and not much else. You can decide how things go from there. I don’t care.”

“I think you do care.”

Peter clenched his jaw and then unclenched it. “Nah.”

“Mm?”

“It just wouldn’t be that hard for me to do,” Peter pressed his lips together, “I can give information no problem.”

“It was a problem a while back.”

“Ah. Then I take back everything I said. _Do what you want but I’m not helping_. _Go_ , and I cannot say this in a nicer way, _fuck yourself._ ”

Remus lightly punched him, “don’t be like that.”

Peter fiercely turned to glare him down, but Remus was cheekily grinning at the ceiling. “Shut up.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll change the subject.” He spoke with confidence that made clear he knew that Peter would help him, “do you know how George found one of them? Or how it took over him?”

“That’s barely changing the subject! It’s like scooting over two paces.”

“Do you?”

“Nope! Dunno how he found it, dunno how it got a hold of him so quickly, don’t know when, don’t know why. We’ll have to ask George when he wakes up.”

“Huh. Usually you know a lot more.”

Peter frowns down at him. “I do not.”

“Yeah, you do. You’ll tell me how one day.”

“I’m a seer.”

“ _Sure_ you are.”

Peter glared at him, then sat back and crossed his arms like a moping child. 

“Alright so who was the girl?”

Peter suddenly didn’t feel as light as before. 

Remus sighed. “Right, won’t ask then.”

Peter relaxed slightly, but his grip on his own forearms was tense. “Really? Just like that?”

“Yeah. You’ll tell me one day. Besides, whenever you explain things when you look like that, you get agitated. Can't really be bothered with that today.”

“That’s so _rude_.” Wow.

Peter got an odd, impossible urge to tell Remus something about her. Her name, perhaps. Maybe even her love of gardening. Like him. But he knew that to tell him that would just open her up as something to ask more questions about, or to think about, and he didn’t want that. Mary existed as something to keep in another of the boxes in his mind. Just like his dad. But Mary’s would stay closed and locked for a while.

It wasn’t like he was gonna keep her a secret forever. Maybe one day, when he was living somewhere sweet and small and bustling with a wife or a husband or maybe just a cat, he’d tell someone. Even if it was the cat. He’d tell them, _hey, he’d lived another life before this — wasn’t that funny? Wasn’t that odd?_ But he wouldn’t say anything until then. Until he was ready, until he was able to just open the secret to reality. And it wasn’t going to happen today. Or tomorrow, or anytime soon.

When Mary was young, around six or seven, a pregnant cat gave birth underneath the window outside her room, hidden in the underbrush. Mary had discovered them the day after. The cat had three kittens, all the size of her finger, outstretched. One was orange, and two were grey. The mama cat was grey too.

Mum had helped her bring them in. They fed the mama cat, who was relaxed and domesticated. The three kittens stayed by the mama cat’s side. But soon there came to be a problem. The orange cat and one of the little grey ones were going just fine, they sucked the milk with no problems. But the third kitten. The third one didn’t suckle at all. Mum took it to the vet and the vet said it was no good.

_Cleft palate_ , the vet said. The top of the mouth was deformed. It wouldn’t be able to suckle. The little kitten was so small in the cat carrier. They didn’t know it’s gender. It didn’t have a name, and it hadn’t even opened its eyes yet. And then, the vet had put it down in a separate room, and Mary saw the woman bring the kitten out in a soft fluffy blanket so that they could say their goodbyes.

Mum had cried and Mary hadn’t. 

Keeping the secret of Mary was kind of like that. Mary had watched the two remaining kittens grow up. She watched them open their eyes and run around, and eventually they kept the remaining grey one and the other two cats were taken in by other homes. To Peter, keeping Mary a secret wasn’t like keeping the biggest secret in existence.

It was like keeping the knowledge of that little kitten close to his chest. Of knowing that the kitten had died, and Mary had seen it, and that no one would ever get to see that kitten with open eyes and that it was small and genderless and innocent and dead. Mary had never told a soul about that kitten. It wasn’t like she was ashamed or anything, or cold to it, or thought it inconsequential. It was mourning.

It was knowing of it, and wanting to keep it close, because no one else knew that kitten and no one else had the right to know. No one could know what she was feeling. No one could know. And no one ever did. And if people were to know, what then? It would become known, it would become questioned, and he wouldn’t know what to do about that. 

Remus broke the silence. “I received a letter from Sirius the other day. Harry passed it on to me yesterday in the hospital wing.”

“Did I get one?”

“It was addressed to both of us. Let me get it.” He rolled off the bed and onto his feet, and dug around through the garbage on the side table next to his bed. He pulled out a piece of parchment, which he tossed over to Peter on the way back to sitting on the bed beside him once more.

_Hey Remus,_

_I heard from Harry about what happened. I hope that you two will be alright, and as some sort of consolidation, I found a book that might help you in the library. Update me on what happens._

_All the best,_

_Sirius_

Peter blinked at it. “Oh. That’s short.”

“It is. I think he’s more concerned about Harry at the moment. Gotta be honest I’m more concerned about Hedwig.”

“Why?”

“Poor bird’s been flying around more than those players that played that quidditch match for a full year.”

“They talk that much?”

“Well, yeah.” Remus said, “Harry’s really happy to have him. And especially now, Harry’s worried about his friends.”

“Ah.”

They settled back into an easy silence, that was quickly broken by Peter speaking up again. “Wait, he mentioned a book. Where is it? Is it any good? I’m not reading it so you’ll have to tell me.”

Remus deadpanned. “I figured.”

“Well?”

“I’m halfway through it. It was written by some seer a couple hundred years ago. Personally I think she’s batty, but if I find something, we might as well try it.”

“Try what?”

“The book’s full of potion recipes. Usually for communication between different ‘realms.’ If any of it works, I’ll eat my socks, but it is pretty interesting. If I find something that might be able to apply to us, well. Good.”

“Huh. Yeah, that’s good.” He fidgeted.

Remus hummed. “Problem is, is that the potions are complicated and while I’m alright with potions, I’m definitely not the best at it. And I’m not even going to mention you.”

“Oi! Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you should say it. I might be bad at spells and shit but did I ever tell you that I can throw a mean right hook? Look. Pow!” He held out his fist in front of him.

Remus scrutinised his fist blankly. “Are you sure you were meant to be a wizard?”

Peter turned his nose up at him. “I’m the best wizard you’ve ever seen. I’m good at problem-solving, calligraphy, fist-fighting and gardening.”

“How come you’re failing herbology then?”

Peter smiled, because he might have questioned his herbology grade sure, but he hadn’t said anything about the other things he claimed competence at. “If the plant tries to bite you, it’s not really a plant. So it doesn’t count. Oh! Also, I’m good at guitar.” Also come _on_! They were in a different world, why the hell _would_ he try? Well, okay, Voldemort _might_ be a reason for him to try more, but he was Harry’s problem, and now maybe Remus’. Not his. _Nope_.

“Oh I forgot about the guitar. ‘Good’ is a strong word. You know the cords, at least.”

“I’m out of practice!”

Remus snorted and looked at Peter in the eyes. “Mhm.”

“You mock me because you fear my prowess.”

“I’d like to see you defeat someone in a wand-fight with a guitar.”

“Yeah you say that but if you saw me swinging around a guitar — which aren’t made for fighting anyway, idiot — you’d run.” Peter pouted.

He looked into the distance. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

“I sense there’s an insult hidden in there somewhere.”

Remus laughed, and laughed.

When Mary was a little girl, around six or seven, they put a little stone out into their garden. It didn’t have a name etched onto it, but in the end, a name wasn’t necessary anyway. It stayed underneath a lavender bush, and really, Mary liked to think that if the kitten had grown up, it would have liked the shady spot a lot.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


That afternoon, Peter found himself near the edge of the forbidden forest. He found a little alcove in a tree. It was empty and filled with spiderwebs. Peter dug into his pocket and withdrew the tiny barely touched bottle of nail polish.

“I’m saying goodbye,” he said aloud, even if he knew no one was round to hear. “And you won’t know that I’m saying goodbye, but this isn’t for you, rather it’s for me. No one will know the significance of this, and that’s okay, because like I said, this is for me. I’m going to let you go. I love you, and I miss you and I wonder about who you could have been, but it’s time that I let you go.

“I won’t stop thinking about you, because you’re a part of me. But now I realise that your death was inevitable. I won’t envy your life, even if I’ll miss the people in it. And I won’t cry about how it all ended. You were young and naive and bitter, and you’ll live on through me, even if I’m not the same as you. Even if we’re as similar as night and day. Or hot and cold. Boy and girl. It won’t do me any good worrying about you anymore. Goodbye, Mary.”

Then he placed the little bottle into the alcove. The afternoon sun shined onto his back. 

Feelings, Mary’s mum had once said, had nothing to do with logic. But putting something in place to acknowledge them was healing. It was like with the kitten. It was like saying, I know you were here, and I know you could have been more. And I miss you. And I’ll remember you with fondness.

  
  
  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“Where’ve you been?” Remus asked as Peter found him in the great hall at dinner. Peter sidled up into the space next to him. Harry sat across from them, next to Percy and Ginny. The three of them had become a bit more familiar in the wake of what happened. Peter had no idea how the hell that happened, but hey, he didn’t care enough to question it.

“Forbidden forest.”

Remus placed a potato slice in his mouth and chewed. “You’re not trying to get a frog again, are you?”

“No frog will ever be as good as David.”

“His name was David?”

“Haven’t I said it before? The name changed every now and then. Don't fault me for not being able to keep track of it.”

“You’re weird.”

“Nah. Also I was just visiting, it's been a while since I’ve gone down there. You wanna go to the hospital wing after this?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, Harry says that Fred is starting to move a bit more. Poppy’s great.”

Peter feigned nonchalance, “cool.”

“Madam Pomfrey,” Percy spoke importantly from across the table, “is a fine mediwitch. Everyone will be back to order in no time.” He used his fork to pick up a carrot, which he then popped into his mouth.

Ginny nodded in agreement. “They’ll all be alright. Hermione’s filled half the infirmary with books already. It’s only a matter of time before she’s out. If not because she’s healed, but because Poppy is frustrated.”

“Her name is Madam Pomfrey,” Percy corrected swiftly. 

Ginny looked at Remus and Peter with raised eyebrows, the equivalent of ‘get a load of this guy.’

Peter and Remus didn’t know Ginny that well. Peter knew her because of the books, but had barely spoken to her outside of that. Remus had only ever talked to her in passing. Either way, they both took the familiarity in stride. Sometimes it was awkward when people acted like they knew each other, but Ginny just had a draw to her. She was less imposing and more congenial.

Harry looked up from his mashed potato. “Sirius says that Poppy is one of the best mediwitches in the country.”

“Pomfrey,” Percy corrected smoothly. He was just as smoothly ignored.

Remus nodded solemnly. “Poppy has always been great. Will she ever die, Peter?”

Peter put down his fork and knife, affronted expression on his face. “You can’t just ask me if she’ll ever —“

Harry turned to Peter, interested, “oh yeah, you’re a seer, aren’t you?” 

Ginny gaped, “you’re a seer? Really?”

Percy narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?”

Ah yes, Peter’s old friend; the consequences of lying. Merlin damnit. “I mean uh yeah, totally. I dunno when she’s gonna die though. I only know some shit.”

Ginny frowned at him, “I doubt that’s true.”

“No,” Harry said, “it’s true. He predicted where the chamber of secrets was.”

“You what?” Ginny leaned forward in her seat, “we could’ve used you last year, then. Are the harpies gonna win their Summer game next year?”

Peter pulled at the hem of his shorts. Remus looked thoroughly amused. His eyes dotted between them like it was a ping pong match. Smug motherfucker. Peter planned to grab a hold of some of Hermione’s books so that he could shove them in his face later. 

“I don’t know everything,” Peter muttered, “just some things, like I said.”

Remus nodded agreeably. “He’s very picky like that. And he rarely warns anyone before anything happens.”

“Listen here, you smug bastard,” Peter started.

Harry spoke up, “so does that mean you knew what would happen in the chamber?”

“Why,” Peter drew out slowly, “the ever loving fuck would I lead myself into the chamber if I knew what was going to happen? Honestly, Harry.”

Percy frowned at him disapprovingly. “Now now, no need to kick up a fuss.”

Peter scratched his chin. “I don’t mean to. Uh, sorry. It was just a very stupid fucking question.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Peter.”

“It was! What, you want me to lie about it? If someone’s stupid I gotta treat ‘em like they’re stupid.”

“It’s moments like these,” Remus deadpanned, “that I realise why Lily snaps at you so often.”

“She snaps at me because she’s a self-absorbed naive prune who can’t see what’s past her nose. Ain’t my fault she’s so high-strung. I mean, come on, you can’t honestly think that any of that was my fault, do you? You were there, I was in the right!”

Harry interrupted them. He sounded incredibly interested. “Who’s Lily?”

Remus smoothly replied. “One of our friends from back home. This idiot here got into a lot of fights with her.”

“She,” Peter mumbled, “got into a lot of fights with me.” Hell if he even knew why. Honestly, he just thought she needed someone to take her frustration out on. Peter was just conveniently in the way.

Well, looking back on it, he could come up with a couple of reasons for her animosity. One, she was more attached to Snape then she was to Peter so it was just easier to stick with what she knew. Two, Peter was kind of a jerk. Sure, being quiet was alright and all, but a large portion of the time Peter flat out ignored her or just gave her subtle jabs that, in hindsight, were... misplaced. He felt a bit bad. And three, Peter reckoned she had no idea about how bad the prejudice was in the first place. She was new to the wizarding world after all.

It was one thing to know of prejudice, but to have it upon yourself, it would feel odd, wouldn’t it? Peter himself was a half-blood. His dad’s a muggle, mum’s a witch.** (Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out). (Well yeah but actually no, dad never knew. Peter found a broken wand in the basement a few years back, which was how Peter knew, but he hadn’t said anything about it, so). Mum died when Peter was young, and that was it. She hadn’t revealed the wizarding world, and Peter had only found out of her secret life when he found the broken wand.

And judging by the way his dad had reacted to the letter and Flitwick and all that, he _definitely_ hadn’t known. So.

Lily probably had just decided that Peter was an easier target than Snape. Because if she targeted Snape, then she’d have to stay away from the only person she’d ever known that well. She’d have to admit that the person she thought she knew so well was actually a racist little motherfucker. Between Peter, a malicious annoying little fuck, (even if he had really great hair, honestly, it was fantastic), and big-nose guy. Well, she chose big-nose guy. 

Was Peter a bit pissed? Oh yeah, absolutely. He means come on. He had just given in because he’d been expecting something from the beginning after befriending Lily, but when she had reacted like that, it had _hurt_. Snape’s greasy mess over Peter’s swishy hair? Come on. He will never understand that girl. In the end, he had meant what he had said to her. She was childish. Naive. She had terrible taste in friends. Was that harsh? Yeah, probably. But she deserved it.

Well, Remus wasn’t that bad. Snape though? Yuck. Yuck, yuck, yuck. He probably used the leftover water from a Malfoy’s foot bath to clean his hair. Oh, that was a great thought. He was totally gonna tell that one to Snape when they saw him again.

Remus shrugged, unconcerned, and spooned a carrot into his mouth. 

Ginny frowned at Peter. “So you don’t know any quidditch match results? Nothing? Not even the name of who catches the snitch at the next game at Quaffleberg?”

Peter stared blankly. “Bless you.”

Ginny huffed and shoved mashed potatoes in her mouth, “if you don’t even know that,” she said with her mouth full, “then what’s even the point?”

Percy curiously looked over him. “Would you happen to know who becomes the next minister?”

“After Fudge? Yeah, Rufus Scrimgeour.” He had no idea whether he was pronouncing that last name right or not. The only reason he remembered the guy was because in the last book he had bothered Mary so much she had had to sit away for a minute after reading the gifting chapter just to level her composure. Fucking Rufus. 

Ginny spluttered, “oh come on! That’s useless!”

Percy looked enamoured. “Would you happen to know the minister after that? What department does Scrimgeour work? Do you know what my NEWT results will be?”

Remus snorted into his dinner and Peter sent him a side-eye. “Like hell I know, like hell I care, and like hell I’ll ever forget. All O’s.”

“All O’s?” Percy grinned widely, not at all put off by his deadpan tone.

“Yeah I gotta be honest that’s a lie I don’t know that. Maybe, Besides, even if I were to tell you that with complete seriousness, just because you know it means that it’ll possibly change. Usually it’s best to not act on these kinds of things. Exhibit A, going to the chamber of secrets for a casual stroll. Apparently a bad idea.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, and Harry didn’t look that amused. But it did get a laugh out of Ginny. Percy pursed his lips. Tough crowd.

“So you really didn’t know?”

Peter groaned. “Merlin, Harry. I swear on my own grave.”

“Last time I checked,” Harry said cheekily, “you’re still alive.”

Remus smiled at Peter secretly, and Peter grinned back. 

“What’s the bet,” Ginny whispered to Percy, “that when we’re dead, mum’ll still make us de-gnome the garden?”

Percy sniffed, “you are above things such as gambling, Ginny.”

“So is that three galleons or five?”

“...two, but I hardly think that it would count when we’d be dead.”

“Are your pockets your ears or something? That’s nothing.”

Percy sighed. “Three, will that suit you?” 

“Yeah I guess.”

Percy rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his food,

“My logic is,” Ginny addressed Harry, Remus and Peter. “That if we’re able to de-gnome the garden, we’ll be able to exchange money. And if not, then we won’t. So really, I’m the only one winning in this situation.”

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“Hey Hermione,” Harry called out into the hospital as they walked in. The door fell shut with a light click. Remus followed slightly behind him, and Peter slumped in partially hidden behind them. Ginny and Percy had said they’d visit later.

“Hello Harry!” Hermione was sitting up in her bed, surrounded by textbooks. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare quill on you, would you? Mine broke.” 

A tower of books, quills and parchment were stacked precariously on her side-table. Three other beds were close by, only hidden by a thin curtain. Peter could still see outlines. He didn’t get the point of the curtains that much. 

The infirmary looked like a storm hit it. It almost looked as bad as Peter and Remus’ dorm room. Almost.

“Yeah, no problem,” Harry dug into his pockets and withdrew a battered looking quill, covered in faint ink stains. Hermione snatched it out of his hands like it was a diamond and immediately dipped it into ink and put it to parchment.

“Oh!” Hermione noticed Peter and Remus standing nearby, “hello Wolfe, Peter. How are you?” Her hand was still writing even as she spoke. Peter leaned onto the tips of his toes to try and sneak a peek, but what he could make out was jargon. “You’re just the people I wanted to see.”

Peter swallowed and took a step back. Harry, of all people, grabbed his shoulder and kept him in place. Peter sent him a betrayed look. “Sorry,” Harry muttered, “I promised Hermione.”

Remus didn’t bother to try and escape. He simply found the one available seat nearby and claimed it. It was really amazing how he could sit into chairs like he owned them. Remus crossed his feet and sat his bag on the floor next to his heels, then relaxed back with the back of his head relaxing in his hands. Smug motherfucker. He didn’t even try to help Peter.

“Nice to see you too, Hermione.” Peter avoided eye contact even as she scribbled on the parchment. He had decided to see her because she was kind of maybe not really who knew — his friend. And he felt guilty because of the whole, well, you know. But really, gearing up for an interview — more like, an interrogation — was not something he really felt like.

Merlin, what was it with people questioning him all the time? Oh Peter, you’re a seer, can you tell me who dies? Oh Peter, why did you betray my friends to an evil dark lord in this reality, Oh Peter, why are we going to the chamber of secrets, man that really came out of the blue, Oh Peter, Oh Peter.

Peter glared at Hermione when she put the quill down finally.

“So,” she said.

“So,” he muttered. Peter glared at Remus for lack of anything to do. Smug bastard just smirked.

“You know what happened, don’t you? More than I do.”

“Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

“Peter.”

Peter groaned, “oh come on, that one was kind of funny!”

Remus hummed, “no, not really.”

Harry’s hand relaxed on his shoulder. “It was a bit.” Fuck yeah. He liked Harry. If only James were as adorable as him. Hell, Lily even. Harry might have taken Lily’s obliviousness, but it was much more kind. Maybe the whole prophecy thing granted him new genetics or something. Do genetics decide personality? Maybe he should test Lily and James when, or if, he got back. He just had to find out how to test it.

“Harry,” Hermione hissed, “you have to take this seriously! He says that he’s a seer, and you know, I didn’t doubt him, but now that I’ve come to think everything out, his claim is ridiculous!” She turned back to Peter, her chin held high. “I think,” she said primly, “that you lied to us when you said you were a seer.”

Well this was going bad. The grip on Peter’s shoulder tightened. “Sorry,” Harry said under his breath, “I tried to tell her to come off of it, but she insisted.”

He whispered back. “Eh, you win some you lose some.” Peter raised his voice again slightly to address Hermione, “yeah you’re right it’s bogus, I’m not a seer.”

This, now this, made Remus’ smug look fade. “Peter!”

“Oh!” Hermione looked equally surprised, “I didn’t even have to bring up my evidence.”

Peter stared. “Wait so you actually have evidence?”

“Well,” Hermione demurred, “I was going to mention how seers are usually more ambiguous, if they even exist, and how seers are usually marked in official records. Such as in this book here,” she held up a thick book, pilfered from the bottom of her pile. “See? All these names are of people with seer blood. It doesn’t go on forever, but it does go far, and in the latest edition it only lists five witches and wizards with seer blood in Europe. You’re not in it, and when I searched back, neither was the lastname ‘Grettigrew.’

“Not to _mention_ ,” she continued without pause, “I thought your claim was ridiculous in the first place. Well, more like Wolfe’s claim; the information was second hand. I humoured you at first because the supposed knowledge on where the chamber was, was true. But it is very odd, specific knowledge to have, and so I cannot help but question it. Trelawney, despite how much of a _fraud_ she is, is in the book, and she is meant to give ambiguous statements. Even if they’re ridiculous. And you’re not, yet you have such specific knowledge — how do you know what you know?”

Peter balked, “I was looking for a _yes_ or _no_!”

“Odd time for you to volunteer the truth,” Remus blankly said to him. “I thought you were just going to tell me you were a seer for the next several years.”

Peter sighed. “ _Yeah I thought so too —_ But, come _on_. This is _Hermione_. She probably writes essays for fun. I can lie to you about it because you don’t actually push all the time, but lying to Hermione is just tempting God.”

Hermione sniffed. “Writing essays is good for the brain.”

“So you’re not a seer,” Harry spoke up from next to his ear, “why do you know so much about the chamber, then? And how did you know who the next minister is going to be?”

Hermione blinked. “Peter, you know who the next minister is going to be?”

Peter rolled his eyes, “for someone who doesn’t give a rats arse about seers, you sure do seem to trust me a lot. Come on, guys, I lead you into a secret evil chamber because I wanted to go for a stroll and, you know,” he lowered his voice, “ _it was a great get-rich-quick scheme and I thought it’d be easier_ ,” he raised it again, “but you kids really need to get a good idea of what danger is.”

“So how do you know those things?”

“Shut _up_ , Wolfe, I swear to fuck,” Peter glared at him.

“Hey,” Remus shrugged, “you’re volunteering the information, aren’t you?”

“Do I have to? Cant I just leave an,” he eyed Hermione, “ambiguous statement?”

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, “no, you're telling us everything. You lead us to that evil thing, Peter. It’s only fair.”

“Oh come on,” he said, “it might have been my fault but I didn’t know!”

Hermione actually looked surprised at that. “If you genuinely didn’t know,” she said, “then actually, it’s not your fault.”

“Huh?”

“Well, I can’t say for certain yet,” she said, “because I don’t know the whole story. Which you will tell us. But if someone doesn’t know about something, then how could it possibly be their fault? It would be like saying that because a dog barks near a tree, and a kid falls out of the tree, that because the kid falls out that it’s the dog’s fault. It doesn’t make sense, it was just barking. Dogs bark.”

Peter pursed his lips and looked down.

“I _guess_ ,” Peter trailed off. 

“Anyway. So you say that you aren’t a seer, explain. It’s quite obvious that you and Wolfe aren’t as normal as you appear. Yes, Wolfe, I know that you two aren’t just normal students, don’t look at me like that, I’m not stupid. And neither are Harry or Ron. We’ve expected it for a while, ever since Sirius said that it was thanks to you two that he was freed. People don’t just happen across a scandal of that sort and help without expecting anything in return. Sirius may have brushed it off, but I didn’t.”

Peter fidgeted and looked away. “Love how we’re doing this in the middle of the hospital wing.”

Hermione stuck up her nose, “for goodness — I’m not stupid! I locked the door from over here as soon as you closed it when you walked in. The three of you sound like elephants with how quiet it is in here. Poppy is off having dinner, while the twins are out and so is Ron. No one else is here. I doubt anyone cares enough to listen in. So there you have it.”

“Gah,” Peter scoffed, “fine. Nosy little girl.” See, fun fact that he’d worked out. You could be pushed to agree to giving out information, but in the end, you were in charge of how much you gave. So this? While it bothered him, it could have been worse. 

“Great.”

Harry looked between them with wide eyes, “Hermione,” he looked awed, “you scare me sometimes, you know that?”

Hermione looked smug. It was comical comparing it to Remus’ face next to her, which looked like an odd mix between expectant and threatened. Somehow, without Peter noticing, both their expressions had been exchanged.

  
  
  


..

  
  
  


“It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils.”

“ _Peter_ ,” Hermione pressed.

“Sorry, sorry. Right, so. Yeah we’re not from this world. We came here by accident.”

“Peter.”

“Hey!” Peter threw his hands up, “that’s the truth that time!”

Remus pressed his lips together and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately,” he sighed, “it is. We’re from an alternate dimension to this one. It’s practically the same except it’s in an earlier timeline and we have, uh, one significant change. We stumbled across an odd looking portal, which we were sucked through, or in my case specifically, pulled through.”

Peter threw in his ten cents, “but not by me.”

“Not by him,” Remus acknowledged blankly. “We ended up in this world. Soon we got into contact with Dumbledore, we knew him from our world, and he told us to search for a way back over here. There you have it, we’re here.”

Hermione frowned. “Yes, and I’m married to Merlin.”

Peter’s back stiffened and he crossed his arms over his chest. If she was going to demand answers, and yet not take their answers, then what were they supposed to do? How the heck could they even prove this? There was literally nothing. 

“How about this,” Remus said, and Peter looked to him tiredly, “in our old world, we had soulmates. That’s the change. Do you know what they are?”

Hermione looked even more disappointed, if that was possible. “You’re not making this more convincing.”

“Soulmates?” Harry spoke up, “aren’t those... people you're meant to end up with or something?”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered grumpily. “We had ‘em over there. We had soulmarks and everything. Like, literally everything, it was ridiculous. They just kinda pop up on everyone at some point in their lives and then they find their other half or halves or whatever...”

Hermione blinked. “Oh? So then, if that were true, then you’d have some conveniently on you? Anything you could show us?”

Remus looked a bit stiff, but he nodded nonetheless. Peter’s eyes widened at his agreement. “If you want me to show you,” he said, “then you’ll have to admit that we’re telling the truth.”

“Well I suppose,” she said, “it would be highly unlikely for you to just tattoo something onto yourself for this. But just because you have something on you doesn’t mean that everything is true. It may be some proof, but it’s not everything.”

“Wolfe,” Peter hesitated. “You don’t have to show them if you don’t want to. I can show mine, maybe. I don’t care about my soulmate.” It was odd that Remus even offered. In the end though, it did make sense. Them giving Hermione information may be just that on the surface, but what they were really doing was using this as an opportunity to get help. Not the nicest thing to do to Hermione, but she was _smart_ , and Remus was _desperate_.

Remus looked a mix between disapproving and thankful. “Please,” he said. 

Peter’s hands itched towards his shirt, and he felt himself pinken in the face. There wasn’t anything to be shy about, not really. Not anything to be shy about _logically_. Because he’d had his shirt off before, _before_ , he’d had his bare back to people. Back before he had his mark, he had sometimes walked around shirtless.

But other than that, he hid himself so much that no one had ever seen his mark. Not his dad, not his dorm mates, not anyone. And now, he was going to reveal it to someone just to prove a single stupid point. It was important to Remus, because he actually wanted to go back, but Peter didn’t care. He had to change the conversation, and lead it away from the soulmark. Somehow. He kept his hands still. “But you’ll have to believe us after, okay?” He muttered. “And then you’ll have to help us, because... we don’t know what we’re doing.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “We have to, do we?”

“I get it,” Peter’s hands loosened and he looked her in the eye. “You don’t want to help us because we’re unfamiliar and not really that trustworthy. But... please. Wolfe doesn’t want to be here forever— can’t you just look at that dead, _sad_ , look in his eyes and just know that I speak the truth? Look. He’s so unhappy. Like a blowfish on a jetty. Come on. You’ll have to help us. He’s very eager to get back home. Seriously, look at him.” Don't make Peter show it don’t make Peter show it. 

Remus stared at him in mute horror. “What the fuck?”

“ _And_ ,” Peter added, “he’s really annoying when he bugs me about getting back. He does it all the time. He never stops, it’s like it’s his main goal in life just to get on my nerves. Have you seen his eye bags? Nothing compared to mine. I swear to Merlin if he doesn’t find out how to get back he’s going to haunt me until I _die_ , and I’m just not _ready_ for —“

“ _We get it_!” Remus hissed.

“Well I suppose we could help you. If you’re not lying, that is. He does look rather sad.” 

Remus balked. “ _Oi_!” Peter just grinned smugly. Hermione hadn’t even noticed he’d talked her away from the mark. She wasn’t looking at him expectantly anymore. Success. Eat it Merlin. 

Hermione, despite her disbelieving tone, did look like she was catching on to their honesty. “If what you say is true, and you came here for research apparently, through Dumbeldore’s wishes… do you really want to go home that badly?”

“Nah,” Peter said at the same time as Remus gave a solemn yes.

“Peter!”

“I’d apologise but I’m not sorry,” Peter said. “It’s great here.”

Harry, Hermione and Remus blankly looked at him. Apparently that hadn’t been the answer they were looking for. 

“Well,” Hermione trailed off, then nodded to herself and said it louder. “Well, I didn’t expect that, but I suppose the aim is to... open another portal, was it, to get Wolfe back. I suppose that, against my better judgement, I’ll trust the two of you on this one. After all, you can’t be that bad if you helped Sirius. Even if it bugs me that I don’t know why.

“You two do look rather genuine. And I suppose I can’t blame you for what happened to Ron and the twins if you didn’t know that this would happen. And while it does make me uncomfortable that I don’t know everything, I’m sure that my questions will be answered in due time if we help you. _Right_?”

Peter scratched the back of his neck. “Right…” haha, _no_.

“Can we see your mark, though?” Harry asked curiously. “I don’t mind helping either, but I’m interested in what a soulmark would look like.”

Hermione inclined her chin towards him. “Oh, yes, thank you Harry! Alright, we’ll help if you show your mark.” Yes, _thank you Harry_. Little shit. Little fucking shit. He took everything back, Harry was _just_ as bad as James. 

Remus and Peter exchanged a look. 

Peter sighed. Then he sighed again, but slightly louder. Remus was awkwardly looking at him. Unlike him, he understood how big this was for Peter. Sure, they’d never seen each other’s marks before, but unlike the others here, he knew that Peter’s soulmate was dead. It was more than what it seemed. Soulmarks, if not shown regularly, were private. Obviously.

But he’d said he would, so. Well. Yeah. Mhm. He just had to lift up his shirt, and boom, proof. The two people here were nice enough to help them without much question, they only wanted to see his soulmark. Despite the harm he’d inadvertently done to them and their friends. And, you know, they also wanted to know the secret of his seer abilities but so far Peter had done a good job of helping derail that conversation. He was great at that. 

All he had to do was just lift his shirt. Better get it over with, then. If he did it quickly, it would be over just as quickly. Peter’s left hand moved towards the bottom of his shirt, which was a pale blue, and lifted it slightly. Then, he bit the bullet and moved the soft fabric up to his chest, so that his full stomach was visible. And, there it was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strip tease.
> 
> ** Peter’s blood status and the wand will be explained. 
> 
> Thank you @YouMakeTheSunSmile for looking over this! (-:
> 
> If there are indeed mistakes it’s because I edited it once more before I posted. Too many slip up, I swear. It’s very spicy and annoying.
> 
> > Did you like the kitten story? I thought putting a token somewhere would be a good way of helping Peter achieve peace. Sorry for killing off a cat to make it feasible. I feel a bit bad.
> 
> Hermione and Harry know about Remus and Peter now. A bit, anyway. As a treat. Still don’t know about their real names, the diadem, Mary, the seer knowledge and how Peter knows so much, the list goes on. It’ll be fun to reveal a few things. Hermione’s inquisitive nature won’t allow much to rest. 
> 
> Also YES. FINALLY. You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this reveal. Sorry for leaving this on a cliffhanger! I’ll try to update soon. I’m super excited!
> 
> Kudos/ comment. Have a good day.


End file.
